


where ficlets go to die

by amfiguree



Category: American Idol RPF, Supernatural, Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 22,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of things written for memes, the cookleta fic train, or no reason in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n'sync and backstreet set cookleta up.

  
"Jesus Christ," Chris says, rolling his eyes. "Would you just go over there and talk to him already?"  
  
It takes a second for David to realize that no one else is responding, which probably means Chris is talking to him. "Um," he says, finally tearing his gaze away from Cook's table (and the waitress who's, like, half sitting in Nick's lap already).  
  
"Oh, no," Chris says, shooting him a look. "You are not um-ing your way out of this one, Archuleta. I know your MO."  
  
"What?" David says. "But I--"  
  
Justin sighs, clearly frustrated. "Dave, the guy's been watching you _all night_. What are you waiting for? An invite?"  
  
"You're just being prickly because the interviewer was more interested in the David-David rivalry than your favorite color," Lance says, smirking.  
  
"Oh, fuck you," Justin says, scowling.  
  
"Come on, guys," Joey says, clapping a warm hand over David's shoulder, and David glances up at him gratefully. "Lay off. Give the kid some air, huh?"  
  
"Hmm," Chris says, and for a second, David almost hopes that that'll be the end of that. Except then Chris slides a bottle of sparkling water (and it's still - it's kind of weird, that people are recognizing them now, that they're, whatever, _entitled_ to ask for things like bottled sparkling water) over, and murmurs, "I'm going to go over there and tell him to come talk to _you_ if you don't do it yourself."  
  
"Oh my gosh, _Chris_ ," David protests, flailing a little. "I - you can't just--"  
  
JC comes bounding back to the table before David can finish his sentence. "Hey guys!" he says, beaming, and David can't help smiling back at him. "Look who wanted to come over to say hi!"  
  
"Oh," David says, because - of course it's Cook. Of course.  
  
Cook, who has one hand raised in a half-wave, whose hair is kind of flopping into his eyes, who's still wearing that really, um, sparkly shirt, and the really tight jeans, and--  
  
"Hey," he says.

"Hi," David says, on autopilot.

"I just wanted to say you guys sounded great tonight," Cook says, still smiling, and it's - David's stomach is doing the weird flip it always does when he sees Cook, on TV or onstage or at award shows or at award show after parties, or--

Joey squeezes his shoulder, gently, and David nods furiously. "I -- um, thank you? Thank you. We practiced a lot, and - yes."

Distantly, David thinks he hears Chris groan.

Cook doesn't seem to notice. He just grins a little wider, nodding. "You'll have show me a couple of those moves sometime. I've always felt like I was missing something in life, and tonight I realized that it's probably because I've never tried dancing on my car."

"Um," David says.

"Jesus," Justin mutters, under his breath.

"Jesus," someone - AJ, David thinks - says, loudly, from Backstreet's table. "David, I know I taught you better than that."

Cook's smile slips a little as he turns to glare over his shoulder. "Guys--" he hisses.

"David! Ask him out already!" Nick calls over.

When David looks, Howie's ducked his head, Brian's trying to hide his smile in his fist, and Kevin isn't even pretending not to laugh. Nick and AJ flash him two thumbs-up.

"Um," David says again, and Cook sort of groans and puts his face in his hands.

"Oh God," Cook says, through his fingers. "I hate you guys so much right now. I have never been this embarrassed in my life."

"For fuck's sake," Chris says. "Yes, he will go on a date with you."

"This is his number," Lance says, plucking a sheet of paper out of thin air and giving it to Cook. "And this is our schedule for the next month."

"Uh," Cook says. David isn't sure which one of them looks more stunned, and he doesn't - he can't get his mouth to work, but oh my gosh, he is never going to talk to the guys again. Ever. _Ever_.

"Maybe you should call in a couple of hours, cat," JC says, and gently pats Cook's arm. "Once you've both had some time to process."

"Yeah," Cook says, weakly. "Okay."

"Oh," David blurts. "Wait, no, you don't have to. I mean, if you don't want to, it's totally fine--"

"Archie," Cook says, and he sounds firmer, surer, than he has all night. "I'll call. Okay?"

David's stomach starts doing cartwheels again. "I - okay," he hears himself say. "Yes."

Cook lingers for a moment, just looking at him, like he's checking for something--and then he smiles a little (oh gosh, David's sure his whole _face_ is red) and nods before turning back to his table.

"Thanks for putting him out of his misery!" AJ chirps, before Cook can get to him. "He's been pining for weeks!"

"Oh God," Cook groans. "Shut up."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cook listens to *nsync christmas songs.

"What the fuck?" Neal says, stopping short in the doorway.  
  
"Hey, fuck you," Cook says, glancing up from his notebook. "This is classic stuff."   
  
Neal's quirked eyebrow speaks more eloquently than Cook's entire vocabulary has ever managed. "This is a boyband."  
  
"They sing five piece harmony," Cook says, reaching for the remote and fast forwarding to track eleven. "It's inspiring."  
  
Neal remains unimpressed. "They're a _boyband_."  
  
"What happened to not buying into labels?" Cook says.  
  
"Yeah," Neal says. "That's not working out so well for me."  
  
Cook throws the album cover at him as Chris begins singing about falling on your knees, hearing the angels' voices. "Shut up and sit your ass down, man. It's time for a lesson in music diversification."  
  
"If you think I'm gonna fucking bop, you got another thing coming," Neal threatens, but he sinks into the couch across from Cook and folds his arms.  
  
"You say that now," Cook says, grinning, and reaches for the remote again. "Wait till you hear them do _Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays_."  
  
  
  
"Whoa, holy _shit_ ," Monte says, when he walks into the room twenty minutes later. "Jesus Christ, _warn a guy_."  
  
"Sit," Cook says, breaking out of pattern for a second to wave him over. Neal doesn't even pause his bopping, though he does raise an eyebrow in challenge when Monte hesitates.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Monte repeats, but he shakes his head and drops onto the couch nonetheless. "I feel like a teenaged girl."  
  
"Dunno why that makes you so uncomfortable," Neal says.   
  
"I should get my camera," Monte says. "Show the fans which of us is the boyband groupie around here."  
  
"It's the Christmas spirit, man," Cook says. "You just never knew the meaning of Christmas."  
  
"What the--" Monte says, but is interrupted by the soulful lead singer looking back on childhood days and his foolish ways. He pauses for a second, head cocked. "Huh."  
  
  
  
Kyle ambles into the room barely two songs after that. "You know, we're supposed to be downstairs watching the game. Why--uh."  
  
"Kyle!" Monte says. "Shit, you gotta come listen to this."  
  
"Uh," Kyle says again, warily. "Are we raiding my wife's closet again?"  
  
"Come on, man," Neal says. "That was a one-time thing."   
  
"You said that the first time, too."  
  
"Jesus," Cook says. "Will you sit down and shut up already? Lance's solo is coming up."  
  
"Wait, you're listening to this _voluntarily_?" Kyle says, dubiously. "Seriously?"  
  
"Hey," Neal says, turning to him, and Kyle wilts into a chair under the force of nothing but Neal's powerful glare.  
  
  
  
They all straighten up when Andy walks in, a little later, mouths open and ready with all the necessary, pre-emptive arguments.  
  
"Look, no one likes a judger--"  
  
"They're five piece fucking harmony, man--"  
  
"It's really hard not to be sucked in--"  
  
"There must be something in the water, swear to God--"  
  
"Oh hey," Andy interrupts, before any of them can finish. "N'sync's Christmas album? _Awesome_. Have we heard the happy holidays one yet?"


	3. Chapter 3

it's totally stupid, because--well, it's midnight. it's not even like any of the stores are going to be open right now. and even if they _are_ , it's not like his album's going to magically appear on the shelves, or whatever, that's not how these things work, and david _knows_ all that, so this is totally stupid.  
  
he's lying awake in bed anyway, curled on his side. his phone is right next to him, sharing his pillow space.  
  
he shouldn't be nervous. he _should_ be asleep. he has, like, a billion promo things in the morning, phone interviews lined up on his way to tv interviews, and short stops at a couple of radio stations and he's exhausted and excited just thinking about it and _he should be asleep_.  
  
it's not like the album's going to be out for at least a couple of hours anyway, and - just -- even if the fans don't buy it (and david knows at least _some_ of them will, oh my gosh, he has the best fans _ever_ , okay), he's so, _so_ proud of it, and that's enough. it's a step in the right direction, in any case, in a totally different way than the first one was, and he's getting to tell his own stories now, which is so awesome, and--  
  
david jerks when his phone buzzes.  
  
he waits for a second (so it won't be obvious he's been, whatever, lying awake with his phone two inches away from his head), before picking it up.  
  
it's cook.  
  
' _breathe, archuleta_.'  
  
david lets out a little laugh at that. and if it comes out kind of watery, at least no one's there to hear it.   
  
he falls asleep with his cheek pressed against the screen, skin mashed up against the words like he might be able to feel them if he just pushes hard enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tennis au.

archuleta comes out of nowhere, and none of you notice till it's too late, till he's shoulder-to-shoulder with you, making the top twenty-five in world rankings at eighteen and a half, barely two years after his first professional match.  
  
it's impressive, sure, but it also makes you grit your teeth because he makes infiltration look so _easy_. when people ask you what you think of him, you quirk an eyebrow, the edge of your mouth, the slant of your shoulders when you say, "i haven't played him yet. so i'm gonna reserve judgment till that happens."  
  
the very next week, he beats federer in the quarter-finals of the australian open. federer's public post-match meltdown barely garners any attention in the news; the archuleta fanfare goes from a buzz to full-out _hysteria_ , sweeps the fans up along with it.  
  
in the days following, when people say _david_ , you don't know if they mean you, or ferrer, or _him_.  
  
it's fucking disconcerting.  
  
  
  
it's amazing that it takes this long for the too of you to finally get paired off. in monte-carlo, of all places. you fucking hate monte-carlo; its courts are all bounce and no bite, and your hidden ace, your big serve, your 130 miles per hour, it's all rendered virtually useless here.  
  
doesn't stop you from coming back and playing your heart out, year after year.  
  
doesn't stop you from hating every frustrating, excruciating second, either.  
  
but you start paying more attention to archuleta, then, enough to pause between one set of reps on the bench press and another when he comes on the plasma tv screen hanging on the wall of the room directly across from you.  
  
he's obviously not used to being interviewed, still new and green and unsure, hands fidgeting and flighty in a way they never are on court as the interviewer asks her questions.   
  
he seems _harmless_ like this, all fumbled charisma and helpless charm he doesn't know he has.  
  
"so this kid," you hear yourself say, when rafa sits up beside you and mops his towel over his face. "what do you think?"  
  
rafa follows your gaze, tilts his head a little when he realizes what you're watching on tv. on screen, archuleta laughs self-consciously, ears and cheeks and neck practically glowing. "he is very good, no?" rafa says. he rolls his shoulders in a shrug, all loose, easy grace. "he no play like you americans. maybe he can win this."  
  
you should be offended, but rafa's already laughing, quick and bright. you roll your eyes as you crack your towel across his stomach. "shut up, spaniard," you say, but it's half-hearted at best.  
  
you can't be pissed off over fact: your countrymen have never been any good on clay.

 

you meet archuleta for the first time an hour before you're both due on court for your match. he's talking to his trainer when you head into the locker room, and you exchange nods when he catches your eye, but there's barely a pause before he turns back to his conversation. you plug in your earphones and go over your strategy again.

the next time you speak, you're on court calling, "tails," as morier flips the coin. he wins, opts to serve first, and you're frowning as you take your place on your side of the court.

you've watched enough of his matches to know that he likes to receive first, and you lean over, twisting your racket in your hands. clearly, you're not the only one who's been studying the competition.

then he's tossing the first ball, and you make the first of many missed lunges.

he's everywhere at once, hitting the ball with so much top-spin that you barely get a return in all match. he's all about the angles, and he forces the ball into your backhand every chance he gets, makes you work for it till you're practically breathless just running from point a to point b to make your shot. you make it to the net four times, and every time, your drop-shot fails you.

jesus christ, it's like nothing _works_ with him, like no matter how hard you try, you're not covering enough ground. you remember playing rafa that first time, remember being stunned by how this kid, two years your junior, was stringing you along like a secondhand violin, and you feel that same way now.

it's fucking embarrassing, is what it is.

you're starting to understand federer's meltdown. you're down 2-5 in the second set after losing the first 3-6, and you feel dangerously close to one yourself.

he's serving for the set now, and this needs to be the best tennis you've played in your _life_ if you want to have any hope of turning this around, but he goads you into making stupid decisions, gunning for returns but never thinking enough to set your balls up for your next play.

your racket flies from your grip as you reach for the last ball, and your heartbeat is thunder in your ears when morier calls it, "game, set, match, archuleta."

"david," he says, but you can barely look him in the eye when you meet at the net, and his palm slides warm and rough against yours for only a brief second before you're pulling away, making your escape.

morier looks sympathetic, which is fucked up, and johns doesn't even need to look at you before he tells you to walk it off. but then you're barely out of the shower five minutes when your phone goes off.

 _sorry about match,_ is all rafa says. _you come see me practice. i let you say correct me._

you don't even think about putting up a fight.

you don't protest much, either, when rafa convinces you to at least stay one more day, watch him make the quarters.   
  
he crushes archuleta. (jesus christ, that could've -- would've-- been you, but it's the first time you've been ousted in the third round in over a _year_ and you're still a little bitter about that.) it's not a walkover, exactly, and archuleta puts up a good fight for someone who plays with rafa's style, but without his experience.  
  
they hug at the net, a quick pat on the back that turns into a long minute of bent heads and whispered words, and you find yourself leaning over the edge of the box, as if that might help you hear better.  
  
then it's over, and you're watching the replay from the luxury of rafa's room, curled up on his couch with your bags on the floor beside you, spending your last couple of minutes together before your ride to the airport shows up.  
  
"what were you talking about anyway?" you ask, when rafa makes a face and turns down the volume on his post-match interview. "that was a hell of a long time you spent at the net."  
  
if rafa's eyebrows are any indication, your attempt at subtlety is sorely lacking. "he say i am his - what you call the word--"  
  
"inspiration," you supply.  
  
"inspiration," rafa repeats, dutifully. "he watch tennis many years and see me play."  
  
you roll your eyes a little, snorting.  
  
"and also you," rafa adds. "he tell me he watch you. then he ask about you."  
  
you almost sit up at that, but you make yourself settle for waving a hand instead. "yeah? what'd he ask?"  
  
"he say the match yesterday very tough, no?" rafa says nonchalantly, but his eyes are suspiciously bright. "he want say sorry and be friends with you. so i give him your phone number."  
  
you do sit up this time. "you gave-- _rafa_!"  
  
"i think is time for your car, no?" rafa says, cheerfully, and nudges you out of your chair, towards the general vicinity of the door. you're already palming for your cell phone, and you spare him a look when he starts to laugh. "adios, david. i see you and archuleta in paris."   
  
  
  
(as it turns out, the sneaky fucker also arranges it so you and archuleta are sitting across the aisle from each other on your flight back home. and you forget all about your bitterness five seconds into him tripping over his apology for the match.  
  
up close, the fumbled charisma and helpless charm are a lot more potent than you'd realized.  
  
you spend the rest of the flight trying to get him to agree to helping you devise a strategy to usurp rafa's throne, and cracking up as he stutters his way through, "but he's so nice, i don't know if, i mean - oh my gosh, why are you -- cook, i'm serious! i don't want to dethrone him!"   
  
you ask him out to dinner before the plane even lands, and you have to try very, very hard not to grin when the first text you get once you're home is from rafa: _you are welcome_.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: cookleta with children.

david hates his life today.  
  
well. not, like, _seriously_ , because life is totally awesome most of the time (there is the sun and music and friends, hi), but sometimes, his students are so passionate that they keep him back wanting to discuss a new idea about bach, which is amazing, david loves that about them, oh my gosh, but he's usually good at making them wait till office hours or whatever, except today tim had said, "yeah, but mozart's outdated, professor, he's not relevant in today's society."  
  
and that is wrong on _so many levels_ , oh my heck, and somehow david had gotten sucked into the whole debate, and when he checked his watch again, it was already four thirty, and now zoe's going to think he's forgotten to pick her up, and--  
  
david _really_ hates his life today.  
  
"oh my gosh, i'm so sorry," he pants, as he finally makes it to the school bus fifteen minutes later. "you are totally the best bus driver _ever_." he doesn't even stop to check if it's the right one; the glaring streak of neon pink running down the side of the bus. it's been there _forever_ , since one of the students at zoe's elementary school decided he wanted to become a graffiti artist. and, okay, david is all about art and passion and following your dream, but. you know. it's a _school bus_.  
  
anyway. he's just glad the bus is still there.  
  
"yeah," cook laughs, as he looks up from where he's been watching zoe braid sabrina's hair. "i'm pretty awesome. class run late today?"  
  
david drops into the seat across from cook when his own daughter barely even looks up to acknowledge him. oh my _gosh_ , seriously, he should've stayed to finish that argument--um, discussion--with tim.  
  
"no, just, there was this student," david says, eventually, when cook raises an eyebrow at his silence. "he was talking about mozart and--" david flaps a hand dismissively, cutting himself off before he start rambling again. "never mind. it was totally lame. i'm sorry you had to wait so long."  
  
"it's fine, man," cook laughs. "this is, like, the second time you've been late in over two years. we're good. plus, zoe's my last stop, and sabrina's always glad to have her around." his grin widens a little, then, and david has to look away. "they're bff now, you know. never want to spend a second apart."  
  
david huffs a little, at that. a month ago, zoe was bff with christina, and - yeah. david knows how this works. "i am so not volunteering my apartment for slumber parties."  
  
cook's mouth quirks, kind of strangely. "the missus wouldn't approve?"  
  
"more like there's no missus to help me out?" david sighs. "and, just - two little girls and glitter is so not a combination a single dad can handle, okay?"  
  
cook laughs, sharp and sudden, and david blinks at the sound, tries to quell the rush of warmth in his stomach. "i hear you," cook says, raising a hand in mock surrender (a _ringless_ left hand, david thinks, absently) (except--of course it's not absently. of _course_ ). "last week sabrina asked if she could have a couple of friends over for a disney princess tea party, and--"

"oh my gosh!" zoe interrupts. her eyes are _huge_. david hadn't even realized they were being eavesdropped on. "a disney princess tea party?"

"it was _awesome_!" sabrina tells her, beaming. "i had ariel and belle came and snow white and cinderella and we had milk and cookies and _ice cream_."

" _ice cream_ ," zoe repeats, in that same awed tone, and already david knows this isn't going to end well for him. or cook, probably. "daddy, can i do a disney princess tea party with ice cream? can i? and sabrina and christina can come?"

"oh," david says, flailing. zoe has the biggest eyes. "um."

"daaaaaaaaaad!" sabrina singsongs, as she slots herself onto cook's lap. "can i gooooooooooooooo?"

"seriously," cook mouths, over the top of sabrina's head, as he loops an arm around her waist and tugs her even closer. "worst idea _ever_."

"daddyyyyyyyyyyyyy," zoe says.

david looks from her to cook and back again. "um," he repeats. "i'm - let's talk about this when we get home, okay?"

"but _daddy_ \--"

"zoe," david says, more firmly now. "this can wait. we've made cook wait way too long already."

"fine," zoe sighs, clearly disappointed. but she curls her arms around his neck and lets him scoop her up easily enough, which he does with no small amount of relief.

"i guess we'll see you tomorrow?" david ventures, over his shoulder, as he makes to step off the bus.

"absolutely," cook says, voice muffled by sabrina's skin. even then, david can hear his smile.

"bye, zoe!" sabrina says.

david turns a little so zoe can wave. "bye!"

david's already almost off the bus when cook pipes up again. "hey, arch, how about you give me your phone number so we can work something out if anything like this ever crops up again? maybe we can even talk about sharing slumber party duty sometime."

"slumber party!" zoe and sabrina chime, in unison.

it's that, david tells himself fiercely. that's the reason he agrees to give cook his number, agrees to setting aside some time to talk later tonight. zoe is totally the reason.

which she is. just--not the _only_ reason.

david has to stifle a smile when cook comes down off the bus to make sure david's stored his number right. he even double-checks it, like maybe sabrina isn't his only reason for asking, too. and his smile, as he gets back on the bus, like there are secrets hidden in the curve of his mouth, ones he's going to share with david someday--well. that's kind of a hint too, david hopes.

so--david totally takes it back.

today is _awesome_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Firefighter!Cook saving Archie

the most embarrassing part of it all is that it's not even a real fire. or--okay, it _sort of_ is, but it only starts because david is a total klutz, and he somehow manages to turn lighting a candle into setting his couch on fire, oh my _heck_.  
  
he trips over the edge of his carpet as he stands, blindly panicked and desperate for water, and the last thing he remembers before the world disappears is how _hot_ the room is.  
  
  
  
when he wakes up, everything is in chaos. there's a sharp stinging sensation at the back of his head, and his vision is swimming. he's swallowed in the loud buzz of conversation, this blend of voices he can't make out. david sucks in a breath, wheezes instead, choking on it as heat flares up in his chest, this scalding burn.  
  
"whoa there," he hears someone say, and then he's being pushed back down, flat on the floor again. he hadn't even realized he'd been trying to sit up. "slow down for a second. you okay, sunshine?"  
  
"um," david manages, still coughing, as he blinks to clear the sudden moisture in his eyes. "i'm - i think so?"  
  
"okay then, here we go, nice and easy."  
  
and then david's sitting up, a large, warm hand against his back, and the room isn't spinning in greeting so much anymore. which--it's not much of an improvement, really.  
  
because david's house is a _wreck_.   
  
the walls are streaked with soot and there isn't much of his carpet left that isn't ash. there are firefighters _everywhere_. "oh," he says, mournfully, when he spies the remains of (what used to be) his favorite furniture piece. "i really liked that couch."  
  
"better the couch than you," david hears, and he startles a little, almost slamming his forehead into someone's jaw in the process. he hadn't realized he'd been leaning quite so heavily, already tucked easily into the curve of someone's arm, his head wilting onto a shoulder. it's, um - it's a really nice shoulder.  
  
and anyway, the shoulder doesn't seem to mind too much, just waits for him to settle down again before saying, "you got pretty lucky tonight, man."  
  
"oh my gosh," david says miserably. "i was just trying to light a candle. i told claudia this whole aromatherapy thing was a bad idea, but she said it totally helped when she was having trouble sleeping last year, so i figured it wouldn't hurt to try something new, but--" he trails off, then, abruptly realizing that, um, spilling his life story to an anonymous arm is maybe not the best idea? "wait, um, who are you?"   
  
"david cook," the shoulder says. "your friendly neighborhood firefighter. i'm just gonna sit with you till the medics come, okay?"  
  
david -- _cook_ \-- has an awesome voice, like liquid honey or something (if liquid honey hummed in d-minor), and david says, "okay," without really thinking about it. he's getting kind of tired again, just listening to cook, feeling the adrenaline fade away. then what cook said really sinks in, and david adds, "medics?"  
  
"you took a nasty hit to the head," cook says. "and you've inhaled a lot of smoke. it's probably nothing, but they're gonna have to get you to a hospital for a check up anyway, just to be sure."  
  
"oh," david says, drowsily. "okay."  
  
cook's laugh vibrates against david's cheek. "i'm just gonna stay right here with you till they get here, if that's okay with you."  
  
"um," david says, eyelids already fluttering shut again. "that would be awesome."   
  
_also,_ he wants to add, _also, could you maybe hang around for a while? because i kind of want to see your face, and, um, and maybe get your number?_  
  
except that's probably the delirium talking, and he's asleep again before he can let the words out.  
  
  
  
luckily, cook _is_ still there when he wakes up at the hospital, later and he's, um - he's really, really hot - and his voice is still as awesome as david remembers, so they do exchange numbers. david considers committing arson at least twice the next day, but in the end cook saves him from himself by calling first.  
  
it works out great.  
  
  
  
(also, david never buys into the whole aromatherapy thing, and cook never lets him try it again, but they do write claudia a thank-you card for the idea, anyway.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: an intimate scene during idol

         


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is a ghost in archie's attic. sam and dean come to save the day.

so there's this ghost in archie's attic. casper. (and oh my gosh, okay, he totally gets that there are a _billion_ different puns in that or whatever, but casper is totally friendly, and sometimes they share stories and stuff, and they're even kind of friends, maybe?)  
  
anyway. he's known about casper for a while now, duh.  
  
the thing is, cook hasn't. and anyway, the ghost in there? the one rattling the windows and raining dusty books and old, moth-bitten clothes at them?  
  
that isn't casper.  
  
"so," cook says. he's breathing heavily, back pressed up to the door to the attic, wincing with each new item being pummeled against the door. archie glances over at him sheepishly from where he's lining the door with salt. "casper, huh?"  
  
"um," archie says, as he finishes the salt line. he only straightens after the howling stops. "i maybe have something to tell you?"  
  
cook hesitates for a second, head cocked warily, but he crumples onto the floor when the pounding doesn't start up again. archie thinks he may be shaking. "yeah," cook says, and to his credit, his voice sounds almost steady. "you've got a lot of explaining to do, archuleta."  
  
so--archie kind of _has_ to call dean up, after that.  
  
  
  
dean doesn't say much, but he picks up on the second ring, says, "thought you'd never call, sweetheart," without preempt, and archie feels heat creep up his neck already.  
  
"oh my gosh, _dean_ ," he says, weakly, and has to turn away to avoid cook's gaze. "i don't--there's something in the house, um, and i thought - there was something else, before, like - casper? and--"  
  
"dude," dean interrupts. "you had the friendly ghost in your attic?"  
  
"what? dean, i--" archie starts, and then sighs when dean trails off into laughter. "it's - yes, okay, but not - it's a new one, now. i don't know - i can't--"  
  
just like that, he's got dean's attention. "i'll be there tonight," he promises, and hangs up before archie can say anything else.  
  
archie listens to the dial tone for a second, swallows hard before he hangs up and looks over at cook, who's watching him curiously, eyebrows furrowed. he's been quiet since the whole, um, 'i'm sort of a little versed in the art of demon hunting' revelation, and it's making archie's stomach churn. "um," he says, but his voice feels too loud in the silence. "backup's on the way?"  
  
"that was the calvary, huh?" cook says.  
  
archie nods, and the relief on cook's face makes him feel a little better, too.  
  
  
  
dean turns up that evening at six thirty, just like he promised. there's someone else with him -- _sam_ , archie realizes, surprised. he's only ever heard stories.  
  
but dean doesn't bother with pleasantries, barely even spares cook a glance as he looks archie over, says, "anything broken?" and, when archie shakes his head, adds, "it's in the attic?" and disappears upstairs at archie's nod.  
  
it turns out to be a really easy case, just the ghost of this girl who used to date casper and was trying to find him. dean sends sam out to finish the salt and burn out back in the family plot ("seriously, david? a family plot? how the hell did you find this place?"), smirks at archie over his shoulder as he carefully packs the salt line back into place.  
  
"you remembered," he says. it sounds almost proud.  
  
archie ducks his head a little, can't make himself look up despite the fact that he can feel cook's eyes on him, too. "i, um--yeah. it's - you saved my life, dean. i mean, i figured maybe it would come in useful someday?"  
  
there's silence for a moment, and when archie finally looks up dean's making weird faces at nothing, over the top of archie's head. "uh," archie hears cook say, after another uncomfortable second. "i'm just gonna go check on sam. see if he needs any help."  
  
dean's smile is too sweet. "you do that."  
  
"cook--" archie starts to say, as he turns around, but cook waves him off (kind of awkwardly?) and disappears downstairs, dangit. "dean--"  
  
"dude," dean says, as he drops an arm around archie's shoulders. "didn't we have the 'you're-not-allowed-to-date-any-cradle-snatchers' talk."

archie huffs irritably. "oh my gosh, whatever. we totally had the 'you-have-to-call-to-check-in-every-week' talk, too. and it's been, like, four years!"

dean ruffles his hair. "so you admit you were cradle-snatched."

"dean!"

dean just laughs, _sigh_ , the way he used to when they first met, years and years ago, when dean'd been missing a younger brother, and archie had been happy to play the role.

"i'm serious, dean," archie says, then, voice going quiet. "you said you'd call."

"occupational hazard, dave," dean says flippantly. "you know how it goes."

except he doesn't really, archie thinks. dean made sure of that. "where've you been?" he asks, instead.

dean pauses for a second, like he's thinking about something, maybe, then slants a look archie's way. "hell."

archie's thrown for a second. " _what_?"

dean waves it off, bumps archie's shoulder with his own. "long story."

_but you found sam,_ archie wants to say. _how? when? why didn't you tell me? you should've called. i didn't even know if your number would work. you've never picked up before. are you guys okay?_

then dean says, "so tell me about your deadbeat boyfriend. is he any good with a shotgun?"

archie's thoughts scatter as he rolls his eyes. because cook is _awesome_ , okay, _seriously_ , and they've been together a while now, which dean would know if he, like, called once in a while. " _dean_!"

  

 

dean doesn't stay long, and he won't say why when archie asks, just waves a hand and shrugs, all, like, cryptic or whatever, "we've got a world to save, man, and daylight's burning."

"oh my gosh, where are you guys even going? it's the middle of the night!" archie protests, but he lets dean herd him downstairs anyway, because--this is exactly like the first time dean left. archie hadn't been able to stop him then, either.

he can hear movement in the kitchen as they reach the landing on the first floor, and he lets out a little breath when he realizes cook's still there. "how do you guys know all this stuff anyway?" cook's saying.

sam exhales, long and slow, and he sounds kind of wry when he says, "let's just chalk this up to training for the family business."

"hey," dean says, suddenly serious, and archie stops trying to eavesdrop as he turns to look up at him. "it's been fun getting to play hero again, but there's some seriously bad shit about to go down, dave, so take care of yourself, okay? i don't wanna be salting and burning your ass anytime soon."

"what?" archie says. "dean--"

dean walks into the kitchen like he doesn't even hear it. "we gotta blow, sammy," he says, and then walks right back out, ruffles archie's hair (again, double _sigh_ ) as he makes for the front door.

sam follows after him, looking kind of put out. but all he says is, "sorry, man, we're kind of on a tight schedule. but it was good to finally meet you. dean's - i've heard a lot about you."

"oh," archie says. "um, thanks. i - you too. he's really, um -- yeah. good luck?"

sam cracks a small smile, but it looks pretty genuine, so. "thanks," he says. "we're gonna need it."

 

 

archie doesn't look at cook again until both the winchesters are gone. when he finally musters up the courage, cook's still standing in the kitchen, looking back at him.

cook's - um, he seems kind of freaked out, and really confused, which is pretty normal, probably, but he's still _here_. he's not running. archie's pretty sure that has to mean something important. "um," he says, hopefully.

cook wets his lips. "yeah, i'll say."

archie feels his stomach do another flip. "cook?" he says. "i'm - are you--"

"look, arch," cook says. "this is all just - it's kind of overwhelming, you know?" he shakes his head a little helplessly. "i wish you'd told me."

archie takes a step forward, then another when cook doesn't back away. "i could," he says, and oh my gosh, if cook says no -- this is scarier than any ghost he's ever seen. "i can make it up to you?"

cook just looks at him, then, watches him narrow the space between them without objection. when archie gets close enough, he draws a really deep breath, like he's making some kind of decision, and then he's leaning in and resting their foreheads together, bumping his nose against archie's. it feels a lot like _let's give this another try_.

"rock salt, huh?" cook says, and archie feels his pulse snap. "guess you better make me a new grocery list."

"oh," archie says faintly, as his eyelids flutter shut. "okay."

"and this ghost in your attic," cook goes on to add. he sounds like he's smiling. "the friendly one. you're going to have to introduce us."

"casper?" archie says, and he feels more than hears cook laugh, heated breath against his temple. "yeah. yes. i can do that."

casper is totally going to love this, oh my gosh.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: stranded in the desert

the first time david realizes that their plane crash - in the middle of an island in bumfuck, nowhere, sand and cacti the only visible things for miles and miles around them - may not end up in death and disaster is when he finds the coconut tree.  
  
the second--well, david spends what feels like fucking forever trying to scale the goddamn thing, and by the end of it he has angry vein-like scratches running down the inside of his arms.   
  
"oh my gosh, _cook_!" archie says, and goes on to fell three coconuts in a single, carefully-aimed-pebble swoop.   
  
"holy shit," david says.   
  
"um," archie says, as he collects the fruit. "i watch the discovery channel a lot?"  
  
as it turns out, archie also knows how to extract water from cacti ("do you carry that mini machete with you everywhere you go, archuleta? or am i just special?"; "oh my gosh, shut up, you should totally be conserving your body fluids."), how to tell if it's going to rain ("um, i think we're out of luck at the moment, though?") and how to (theoretically) deal with scorpion stings ("jesus, arch, how much time do you spend with that tv set?").  
  
the one thing david _can_ do? is set up a campfire, and the both of them huddle around it that night, nothing but the dark, star-sprinkled night sky stretching above them.   
  
"kind of romantic, huh?" david says, when he catches archie watching him, and he grins into his coconut when archie flushes and drops his eyes.  
  
it's shaping up to be a long night, though, and the temperature drops, fast, till eventually archie starts shaking so hard he drops his half of a coconut.  
  
"okay," david says, the brief lull in their day dissipating as he wraps an arm around archie's shoulders and tugs him closer. "what do we do now?"  
  
"um," archie says faintly, and mumbles something into his hands.  
  
"what was that?"  
  
"take off our clothes," archie says. it lilts into a question at the end.  
  
"uh," david says, thrown. "look, man, i'm flattered, but we're kind of stranded in the middle of nowhere, so i don't know if this is the right time to be thinking about--"  
  
"oh my _gosh_ ," archie blurts, and even in the dim firelight, david can see the sudden flare of color in archie's cheeks. "i don't - not for _that_! just - it's warmer, if you - um, like, sharing body heat and stuff--"  
  
"ah," david says, and proceeds to strip down to his boxers. pretty soon they're huddled up on the sand, buried under a heap of clothes, and archie doesn't protest when david starts rubbing their hands together.   
  
he may not be the desert survival expert, but he knows how to do this much, at least.  
  
"so we're doing this backwards, i guess," he says, after a second, concentrating on getting some heat back into archie's skin. "but i was gonna do this when we got to la anyway, so. when we get out of here, what do you say we go out sometime?"  
  
"oh," archie says, belatedly, then tucks his face into the curve of david's neck. "um, i don't know, what if the discovery channel feels like it's being neglected?"  
  
david laughs abruptly, caught off-guard, and strokes a thumb over archie's temple as they both turn to look up at the sky again. it seems endless all of a sudden, this huge expanse of _too much_. this could still end up in death and disaster, david supposes, but at least he's not alone.  
  
"they're gonna find us, arch," he says, quietly, and hears archie's exhale against his cheek, like a promise. he nudges archie's side. "and then you're going to owe me a date."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cook is a pediatrician and archie's daughter is one of his patients.

it's not unusual for cook to be early for work. he tries to come into the clinic at least twenty minutes beforehand so he can squeeze in a cup of coffee and a newspaper before he starts seeing his patients. it's not unusual, either, for brooke to smile as he comes in, to nod at the door to his office and say, "the archuletas are waiting for you inside."  
  
the warm little tug in his stomach when she says that isn't at all unusual either.  
  
what is, though? is the way david's standing by the patient's chair when cook comes into the room, looking kind of helpless as he wrings his wrists. "hi, dr. cook," he says, but his heart isn't in it. "sorry we're so early, we just--"  
  
"no problem," cook says, resisting the urge to clap david on the shoulder. he's pretty sure that's not quite in line with what constitutes a _professional working relationship_. he aims a reassuring smile in david's direction and waits for a nod in response before turning to his patient.  
  
"okay, kiddo," cook says, smiling as he swings jamie up onto his medical bed. "what are we fixing up today?"  
  
jamie looks up at him, eyes wide and guileless, and shakes her head.  
  
"okay," cook says again, after a second (because that's a little unusual too; jamie may have a weak constitution, but that's never stopped her from being a talker) and puts a careful hand on her stomach, listens for a telltale hitch in her breath as he presses down. "let's try to figure out what's going on. does it hurt here?"  
  
jamie shakes her head.  
  
cook shifts his palm over to the left. "here?"  
  
again, jamie shakes her head. _wanna tell you something,_ she mouths, as cook makes to move a little lower down her stomach.  
  
cook frowns. "jamie--"  
  
"she won't tell me what's wrong," david blurts suddenly, and cook looks up. "she wouldn't have any breakfast this morning, but she kept saying we had to come see you, and i thought maybe she was in pain or, like, her appendix had burst--"  
  
"david," cook interrupts, stifling a smile despite himself. jamie's tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, now, and she isn't showing any signs of distress, so he's pretty sure they're fine. "you need to go get a cup of water so i can finish up in here."  
  
david sucks in a long breath of air. "right," he says, nodding. "okay, yes. water. i can do that."  
  
jamie waves off his concerned glance as he exits the room, and then cook's rounding on her, eyebrow raised, mouth almost quirked. "all right, little lady, what's going on? your dad's about to give himself an aneurysm."  
  
jamie reaches up for him, then, and cook goes willingly, lets her wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder. cook tries to suppress a sudden wave of panic. "hey," he says, carding one hand through her dark, dark hair. "hey, it's okay, honey, what--"  
  
"daddy has a date tonight," jamie whispers, and cook feels his heart seize for an entirely different reason. "i wanted to come tell you."  
  
"uh," he says, as she tugs away. she's chewing on her lower lip when he finally looks at her, eyes greener than anything he's ever seen, tiny hands curled in the lapel of his jacket.  
  
"dr. cook?" she says uncertainly.  
  
cook lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. his heart is still jackhammering in his chest. "yeah," he says finally. "yeah, jamie, i - just give me a second, okay? i'll be right back."  
  
the grin she flashes him trips his pulse up for a second. her nod is the only stamp of approval he needs.  
  
to hell with professionalism.  
  
david's standing in the hallway when cook finds him, white-knuckled tension in his clasped hands as he worries on his lower lip. the similarity is so strong that cook has to bite back the sudden urge to smile.  
  
david straightens once he realizes cook's in the hall with him. "is she okay?" he asks anxiously.  
  
"she's fine, it's probably just a little bloatedness," cook says, and watches as relief floods david's face. "it might take a while to go down, though. we could grab something to eat while we wait?"  
  
"oh," david says, and there's this sudden note of wonderment in his voice that cook's only ever heard in relation to jamie before. it lights a snick of heat in his stomach. "yeah. um, yes. that's - that would be great."  
  
  
  
(david never goes on that dinner date.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cook and archie are part of a special forces government agency.

as it turns out, archie looks good in spandex.  
  
cook can't even be surprised. the kid is good at fucking everything, apparently. hacking into foreign government agency databases, diffusing decidedly not your run-of-the-mill bombs, working a handgun: minor players in cook's league of reminders-that-david-archuleta-is-not-actually-a-twelve-year-old list.

he nudges archie in the side as archie tugs at his (form-fitting) outfit for the third time in as many minutes. "quit showing off, archuleta," cook says, mouth half-quirked in a grin. "anyone with eyes can see that spandex is a good look on you."

"oh my gosh, _cook_!" archie splutters, albeit quietly, a dark flush creeping up his neck, and cook turns the threat of laughter into a cough. all he has to do is keep joking about this; if he keeps pretending this is _funny_ \--

"you done flirting, cook?" lt. smithson says dryly, eyebrow raised. "'cause we've got a national emergency on our hands, and i've got a briefing to get through here."

"yes ma'am!" cook says, snapping off a sharp salute.

"okay, so this is what's going to happen."

 

 

later, cook wishes he'd told carly exactly where she should've shoved her fucking plan, because any plan that involves him and archie crammed in a ventilator with a ticking time-bomb caught between the both of them is not much of a fucking plan at all, in cook's book.

he can't even stop to appreciate the way archie's lined up against him, thigh to hip to chest, both of them curled around russia's latest gift to the usa, breathing hard as they watch their seconds run out.

cook's chin is hooked over archie's shoulder, watching as the child-fucking-prodigy works on diffusing the bomb. archie's fingers are deft on the console, and he uncases it in under two seconds ( _literally_ two seconds), blinks down at the shock of wires that spills out to greet him.

"oh," he says, faintly.

lt. smithson's voice comes in a burst of static. "status report, archuleta."

archie doesn't speak up for a second.

"archuleta?"

"we're in," cook says, when archie doesn't. "we made it in. we've located the threat." he feels archie tense beneath him, and he drops his voice a notch. "what's the game plan, arch?"

"i've never seen anything like this before," archie says eventually. cook has to strain to hear him. "cook, i - i'm not--"

"fuck," cook swears, rips his earpiece out in the midst of carly demanding, "david, what the fuck does he mean--"

"dave," cook says, curls a hand around archie's wrist, the closest thing he can reach. "talk me through this."

archie swallows, hard, and cook's pulse spikes when he hears the hitch in archie's breathing. "this is - i didn't even know they -- there's been talk, but it's all only ever been, whatever, rumors, i didn't know they'd actually - i have to cut one of the wires, but it - you only get one chance, cook. it's configured so cutting any of the others will set it off, and i don't know how to - there's no protocol or precedent, and--"

"archie," cook interrupts, feels himself tense as he counts forty seconds left on the clock. "we're out of time. you're gonna have to pick one."

"dangit," archie whispers, stumbling over the word already. the pliers in his hand hover uncertainly, frozen mid-air in indecision. "which one is it? if i cut the green, i could - but it could be the blue, and--"

cook reaches up, then, ignoring his body's protest at the awkward gesture, and jerks archie's head back. "don't you fucking get this wrong, archuleta," he warns, tries to bite back the unsteady dip in his voice. "because i haven't gotten to ask you out for dinner yet, and you don't want to miss that."

archie blinks up at him, stunned. "oh," he says, at last, and there's something in his tone that--

"yeah, _oh_ ," cook says, roughly, and the twenty, nineteen, eighteen on the timer is as good enough as any incentive to lean in, to slant his mouth over archie's, because if he doesn't do it now, he may never get the chance.

"...oh," archie says again, once cook pulls back. he's kind of breathless, eyes wide and fucking _brilliant_ , even in the dark, and cook's heart twists in his ribcage. oh _god_ , they need more _time_.

then archie sets his jaw and turns back around, and--

cook watches him cut a wire.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a Fever Pitch au.

They meet at a _baseball match_ in November, oh my gosh, so Archie doesn't know how he didn't see this coming, seriously--  
  
Okay, so technically they met in church, after Archie had just shared about the importance of family harmony. Cook teaches religious studies at school (or taught, anyway, for, like, a year before he decided to quit and--but that's a whole other story), and he'd brought a couple of students to "broaden their narrowly defined construct of faith". Archie had overheard him talking about brainwashing by personalizing stuff, and Archie had found himself saying, "Um, we totally don't do that?"  
  
Cook had turned to him, eyebrow raised, and they'd somehow, um, gotten into this huge debate about the Mormon faith (which Archie totally won, ha!) and by the time it was over, two of Cook's students were slumped in a pew, fast asleep.  
  
"So," Cook had said, as he'd herded his students towards the door. "Can I call you?"   
  
"Um?" Archie had replied, surprised into it, and then Cook's mouth had quirked, and Archie's throat had gone dry as he said, faintly, "Okay."  
  
 _Anyway_.  
  
That had been sometime late October, and the next week Archie had gotten a call from Cook, as promised, and that's how he gets talked into his first baseball game.  
  
So, yeah. He's maybe not the quickest guy on the uptake, but seriously, okay. _Seriously_. Archie doesn't know how he didn't see this coming.   
  
  
  
They have four seriously _awesome_ months together, after that. They spend all their free time together, mostly working around Archie's crazy timetable ("I'm not taking the fall for being the reason Berklee's star pupil flunks out, man."). They celebrate Christmas together, and also New Year's (which, um, is when mistletoe and the huge disco ball become some of Archie's favorite things _ever_ ), and they visit Archie's family over Spring Break, back in SLC, and everyone loves Cook, which is great, because Archie's pretty sure he's also, um--  
  
  
  
But then April rolls around, and suddenly Cook's--different. Not in, like, a bad way or whatever (at least it doesn't start out like that), but he's a little... well. He gets all intense and rowdy and stuff, this dark, wild look in his eyes that makes something twist hard in Archie's gut, makes Archie's palms start to tingle and his throat go dry.   
  
They spend a lot of time at baseball games, and also, um, in the bedroom, after, and it's all new and exciting at first (except for the parts where Archie has to actually, um, watch the game? Or the parts where Cook tries to explain the rules, or attempts to make Archie read up on the Sox, but mostly Archie lets himself get distracted by the way Cook's mouth moves, and everything becomes sort of bearable).  
  
But then it starts interfering with Archie's performance in school, because they keep forgetting to set the alarm, or he keeps getting out of bed late, and when he tries to bring it up, Cook just grins up at him, kisses him and promises, "You'll be fine," and, "I'll help after the game tonight," and, "It'll get better in the Summer, once your classes end."  
  
And Archie wants to believe him, he does, except it just gets worse, and worse, and one day Archie's half an hour late for an exam. They have their worst fight _ever_ , and Archie actually yells, he's so upset.  
  
They don't speak for a week.  
  
Then Cook shows up at his door one night, looking sheepish, and offers to take Archie out for dinner that isn't corndogs and mustard, promises to cut back on his stadium time and make time for other things. "Boyfriend things," he murmurs, later, against Archie's mouth, and Archie is kind of really, really easily persuaded when it comes to all things Cook.  
  
  
  
Cook's resolve even holds, for a little while. They compromise, and he misses a couple of games a month, spends time doing things that Archie likes doing: trips to the movies, a couple of live concerts, and, once, a day trip to an art museum.  
  
It fees like -- sometimes Archie looks at Cook and remembers being back in Salt Lake, remembers Cook fitting in with his family, remembers thinking--  
  
But then it's September, and September is a busy month.  
  
The Red Sox win in September (while they're at Carly's birthday party).  
  
So Cook breaks up with him in September.  
  
Also, Archie almost flunks out of Berklee for real in September (in the first two weeks of class, which must be some kind of record?).  
  
Archie starts to understand why no one ever says September is their favorite month.  
  
  
  
He spends two weeks moping, and then he hears from Jason (who heard from Carly who heard from Michael who heard from Neal) that Cook's selling his tickets off to Joey. "Wait, what?" Archie says. "Like, tonight's tickets?"  
  
"Like, forever's tickets, man," Jason says, with a shrug. "He was pretty set on it, too, when I--Arch? Where are you--"  
  
That's how Archie ends up where he is, which is _streaking across the stadium_ , oh my heck, in front of, like, a billion people, and he somehow makes it to Cook without falling or breaking anything, and flings his arms around Cook's neck. "Don't sell the tickets, oh my gosh, _Cook_ , are you crazy? You can't just--"   
  
"I don't need them," Cook says, and he looks awful when Archie pulls back to stare, dark rings around his eyes and his mouth stretched thin. "Not if you're not here to watch the games with me."  
  
" _Cook--_ "  
  
"Look, Arch, I messed up, I know I messed up," Cook says, shaking his head. "Can we try this again? It's not just a game, I should never have said that, but -- you're not just a guy. You're--"  
  
"Yes," Archie blurts, and grabs for him, kisses him long and hard. "Yes, Cook, yes, okay, I--"   
  
And that's when Security shows up and drags Archie away. They charge him with, like, public indecency and resisting arrest, and Cook shows up with bail twenty minutes later, laughing like there is _anything_ remotely funny about the whole situation.  
  
Which--seriously, okay. Archie doesn't know how he didn't see this coming.  
  
They do end up keeping the tickets, though. And also their relationship. And also their trips to art museums and the movies.   
  
So. He may not have seen it coming, but Archie thinks it all worked out for the best.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: angsty cookleta.

It used to be easy, Cook thinks, watching as David folds into himself on their couch, the heels of his palms shoved against his eyes.   
  
Used to be quick, stolen kisses against the side of the bus at 1am Walmart stops, David laughing into his mouth, weak protests of "Cook, oh my gosh! Someone could _see_!" swallowed even before they surfaced.  
  
Used to be long, drawn-out calls whenever they could swing it, random text messages punctuating the growing physical distance between them, rescheduling appearances where they could, just for the satisfaction of saying, "That's twenty miles less than yesterday."  
  
Used to be.  
  
It hasn't been easy for a while now.  
  
"Arch," Cook says, eventually, when the silence starts to feel too goddamn loud. There's an accidental edge in his voice, and he flinches before David does.  
  
"I--" David says, stops, squares his shoulders before he looks up, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. "Can we - do we have to do this now?"  
  
Cook releases a slow breath, then, reels the bait back in. He shakes his head, sinks onto the floor as he watches relief flood David's face, and wonders how the fuck they came to this.  
  
"Hey," he says, gentler now. "C'mere."  
  
The hesitation is brief, but it twists in Cook's stomach anyway, hot and heavy, and he presses his face into David's shoulder for a second after he slips under Cook's arm.   
  
They're quiet for a while, anger replaced by a sudden exhaustion; Cook doesn't even remember what they were fighting about. One of them having to cancel their next meeting for an interview, maybe, or the crappy take-out.  
  
It's not important.  
  
"Archie," Cook says, just as David says, "Cook--"  
  
David looks worn down, lines bracketing his eyes and mouth, and he swallows when Cook leans over to brush a thumb over his jaw. Two years, now, two _fucking_ years, and there's still - he's still --  
  
"Can it wait?" Cook hears himself ask, then, voice so gravelly he barely recognizes it as his own.  
  
"Yeah," David says, almost breathlessly. His fingers twitch where they've come up to rest against Cook's neck. "It can wait."  
  
  
  
They only just make it to the bedroom. Cook's shirt is already off, and David shucks his off at the foot of the bed. Cook just wants to _touch_ him, god, anywhere he can get him, the warmth of his skin, his smile, just -- _more_.  
  
David's scrambling for him too, desperately, fusing their mouths and palms and bodies. "Cook," he whispers, and his breath catches as he arches up, back coming right off the bed, "Cook, oh, _please_ \--"  
  
  
  
They lie in the darkness for a long, long time, after. Cook splays one hand over David's hip, lets the other one idle in his hair. "I don't think I can do this anymore," David says, finally, face still hidden against Cook's skin. His voice hitches when he adds, "I'm just--"  
  
He falls quiet, then, but Cook already knows what he means. That hasn't changed.  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, roughly, and his next breath is long and deep and shuddering as he pulls away. "Yeah, me too."  
  
  
  
When Cook wakes up, he's cocooned in air, empty sheets cooling in the space beside him.  
  
There's a set of keys on the pillowcase.   
  
Walking away is the hardest thing he's ever done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how the cookleta concert in manila should have happened

So the thing is it's been a whole _year_ since the finale, and then some, and, like, they've just crowned Allison the new idol, so you're sort of not really expecting the crowd that shows up? It's _insane_ ; you don't even know if there are this many people in Murray.   
  
Manila is wet, muggy heat, which is awesome for your voice (score!) but kind of uncomfortable otherwise? Plus, the venue is totally packed, which makes things even hotter. But the energy is, like, _crazy high_ , oh my gosh, you've never had so much fun doing a concert in your _life_ , and people are screaming and cheering and waving their hands at all the right bits, and you're kind of in love with them already?  
  
You totally breeze through _touch your hand_ like it's nothing, and _crush_ , and _you can_ \- because, hi, the crowd, really, they're so great - and there are butterflies in your stomach (good ones) and your voice feels so, so good, as you start singing _a little too not over you_.  
  
("You're gonna show me up, man," Cook had said to you, during rehearsals. "I'm not getting up on that stage to help you prove how much better you sound." He'd mussed up your hair a little, and you'd ducked away, blushing and laughing because oh my gosh, that is not even possible, like, his voice and stuff--  
  
Cook had just rolled his eyes and said, sort of - you thought - affectionately, "Shut up and take a compliment, Archuleta.")  
  
And then you hit the chorus, and the crowd goes even wilder. The band goes silent when you hit the line, "tell me why," just like you rehearsed, and it makes you shiver a little, how perfect all this is, and then you sing, "I can't seem to face the truth..."  
  
It's goes really, really quiet for a second, like everyone's holding their breath, no music in the air except the sound of your voice, that one awesome note (which, oh man, hitting this note always gives you chills). One, two, three--  
  
And then the bass starts _thumping_ and everyone goes crazy, and you laugh a little bit when Cook jumps onstage and growls, "I would like to introduce Mr. Sensitive."  
  
It is so, so perfect, and he sounds amazing (which, duh, you totally knew he would, he always does) and you remember bringing this up while you were discussing the song order, and everyone had kind of laughed and said, "Sure, yeah," even though they _obviously_ didn't mean it.   
  
But Cook had tilted his head and looked at you, thoughtfully, hummed a little bit of your bridge under his breath, and then his eyes had gone all, like, bright, and he'd laughed and said, "Always said you were a prodigy."  
  
It's still kind of amazing how awesome the songs come together. Sort of like you and Cook. Some days _you_ don't get it, either, how you can work so well when you're so obviously different.  
  
Then Cook belts out, "They throw the stones at bricks and bones, he didn't stand a chance, they said," and he grins at you, and you feel your chest do this weird, like, flippy thing when you grin back. "A little boy, the world in tow, but ignorance is bliss."

You can see people in the stands screaming and _crying_ and stuff. You beam and wave at them all as Cook pulls out the best note you've heard from him since, like, ever, and then the band switches melodies again, and you hum along as Cook sings, "And they say that a hero can save us--"

"I'm not gonna stand here and wait."

And oh my gosh, this song. You still sound really, really good together, and you're so glad you hadn't decided to veto Cook's decision to do this duet after all ("What if it's too, like, cheesy, or whatever?" you'd asked, and Cook had just snorted, "David, you have a lot to learn about our female fanbase."), because when you sing, "I'll hold on to the wings of an eagle," and Cook joins in on, "Watch as we all fly away," it's really kind of awesome.

"Someone told me," Cook croons, and you laugh when he slings an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair, "Love would all save us."

There are a bunch of girls in the front row who start, like, swooning after that, and for a second you're kind of worried that they might hurt themselves, but then one of them yells, "Kiss him, Cook!" really, _really_ loudly, which - oh my _gosh_ , what are they talking about?

Cook just laughs and your ears start burning (because this is totally embarrassing, and not, um, not for any other reason) even as you sing, uncertainly, "But how can that be," which just makes them scream even louder, "Look what love gave us."

And then Cook sort of leans over and down, and _does_ kiss you, oh my _heck_ , just -- it's really quick, a brief peck at the corner of your mouth. It kind of - you get really dizzy for a second, like your legs, um, they sort of give way? And - and then you're swaying into Cook, kind of, and the screaming has gotten so intense it's making your vision swim. You can't even hear the band anymore, it's so _loud_.

When you blink, Cook is right there, only in some kind of soft focus. He's sort of yelling at you, his hand clenching tight around your shoulder, but you can't hear anything he's saying because your heart is _pounding_ in your ears, and all you can see is the way his mouth is moving.

"Cook," you say, finally, because everything still feels like it's moving molasses-slow, and you want to tell him--

But he seems to get it, because he stops talking, just looks at you for a moment like - like he's trying to make up his mind about something. Only you're not - you can't _wait_ anymore, you've been waiting _forever_ , so long your stomach clenches up at the thought, and oh my gosh, _enough already_.

Then you're steadying yourself against him and leaning up and _totally_ ignoring the eleventy billion camera flashes that, like, go off in your _face_.

It goes by in this hazy, dream-like _awesomeness_. Cook's mouth is so, so warm, and his jaw is all stubbly, and when he kisses you, it's like he's trying to share a secret, like maybe this is the best kiss he'll ever have in his life, did you know that? You've never even kissed anyone before, but suddenly Cook is _licking into your mouth_ , oh my--

You're shaking. It's the best feeling ever, like your birthday and Christmas and doing Idol all in one, and you vaguely feel Cook's other hand come up to cup your cheek. You're breathless when you pull away, and when you finally open your eyes again, he's staring at you, and - and at your _mouth_ , and.

You're not sure, but you _think_ it's, um, a good sign? Maybe?

The screaming hasn't gone down at _all_ \- wow, they're really, really good at this? - but Cook doesn't even look away from you, he just kind of grips your shoulder tighter and breathes into his mike, unsteadily, "David Archuleta, ladies and ladies. You're going to have to give us a second, we're going to take a short break."

"Um, yes," you add, weakly, as Cook begins to drag you across the stage.

"Make sure you tape the evidence!" one of the crazy front-row girls yells, after you, but then the roar of the crowd is swallowed by Cook's lips and the sound of his ragged breathing, low in your ear.

And, um, so you _totally_ love Manila, oh my gosh. This concert is the best thing _ever_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a Time Traveler's Wife au.

Okay, this has never happened before, so it's totally not David's fault that his first instinct is to kind of yelp and fall off the bed? _This_ being his boyfriend appearing out of nowhere, like, _naked_ in David's bed, and, oh, yeah, also _seventeen-years-old_ , oh my heck.  
  
"I was just, um, surprised?" David says, when he recovers - which takes, like, two hours of freaking out or something - and Cook (or maybe it's mini-Cook? David doesn't really know what the right term is?) kind of shrugs and says, "It's cool, man."  
  
Which sort of triggers another mini freak out, because oh my gosh, he _totally_ sounds just like Cook, right down to the way he's looking around the room trying to figure out where he is, and how is this even happening?   
  
"So," mini-Cook says, after he's changed into some of Cook's clothes (their builds are so, so different - mini-Cook is skinnier, and he has floppier hair, and his face is a little rounder - so the sleeves are all the wrong length, and mini-Cook keeps tugging at his collar, which David sort of finds kind of, um--). "I guess the two of us are pretty close."  
  
"Um," David says, awkwardly. He wishes he remembered if Cook knew he was gay at seventeen. "I - yeah. Yes. Sort of?"  
  
"But this hasn't happened before, has it?"  
  
David frowns. "Um. Before?"  
  
"You know, you haven't met my twenty-year-old self or anything, right? This is the first time you've seen me all, uh, Back to the Future?"  
  
"Oh!" David says. "Yes. I didn't - you've never told me you could--" He gestures, vaguely.  
  
"Time travel?" Mini-Cook offers. He settles back against the headboard of David's bed, crossing one ankle over the other. His head is tilted, a little, and David catches himself thinking about how, um, how good Cook looks, and how confident he is, and -- how is he only seventeen? David's almost twenty-two, and he's still totally not this confident.  
  
"Yes," David says, finally. "Time travel. I don't - are you - how...?"  
  
"Fuck," mini-Cook laughs, then, and David flinches, just a little, but sort of leans in, too, just a little, so they both cancel out. Cook is usually careful about his language around David, so it's not like he gets to hear Cook swear a lot, and he sort of wishes he wasn't wishing Cook would do it more. "Man, I don't know. It started happening when I was eight. One minute I was in school, the next minute - bam, middle of Japan, 1990."  
  
"Oh my gosh!" David says.  
  
Mini-Cook grins. "I know, right? That was pretty insane, man."   
  
"But do you always, um," David says, and oh my gosh, he is totally not blushing, "Not, you know, um, with the clothes?"  
  
"Yeah," Mini-Cook says. "I don't know. Cotton doesn't respond well to the space-time continuum or something."  
  
"But - how are you going to get back?"  
  
Mini-Cook worries at his lower lip as he works through the question. David gets this hot, burning feeling in his stomach every time Cook does that, and, um, it usually ends up with them both in - in bed? Sometimes more than once. And Cook does this thing with his, um--"Maybe you should stop doing that?" David suggests, after a second. His voice is so _not_ higher than usual.  
  
Mini-Cook gives him a strange look, and then shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really have it under control. I always end up in the closet at home when I go back, but I can't tell you when that's gonna happen. Sometimes I stay in a place a couple of days, sometimes a week. Sometimes I'm gone in five minutes."   
  
"Oh!" David breathes. "But - but Beth and Stan--"  
  
Mini-Cook's eyebrows go up. "You know my parents?"  
  
"Um," David says. "Yes? You - your mom makes awesome pie?"

"She does," Mini-Cook agrees. The edges of his mouth are quirking again. "If you know my parents, you must know a lot about me. Tell me about 2013, man. What am I doing? Am I cool? Do I have a hot girlfriend?"  
  
"Um?" David says. That answers the gay question?  
  
"Bet I'm awesome," Mini-Cook says, then. And oh, gosh, for a second David kind of laughs and - and leans in and--oh. Wait. What?  
  
"You're pretty awesome," David says, instead, and swallows hard. "Yeah." It's totally the truth, too. They've been living together, like, forever now, and Cook is still awesome. And, like, with his music and everything, too.  
  
"Am I still in theater?" Mini-Cook asks, with another smirk. He shifts a little closer to David, so close their shoulders are touching. David isn't even surprised. Beth always says Cook's never understood the concept of personal space. "Or have I gone dark-side and become the doctor my dad always wanted me to be?"  
  
David opens his mouth to reply, but then Mini-Cook pauses, his forehead creased. For a second, his face clouds over. David feels his pulse speed up a little. He hasn't seen - Cook doesn't look like that very often, like he's maybe going to break down and he's trying really, really hard not to.   
  
"Cook..." David says, quietly. "Are you--"  
  
Mini-Cook shakes his head, and David falls silent. When Mini-Cook speaks up again, his voice is totally different. "What about - is Adam...?"  
  
"Oh," David says, quickly, _so_ relieved. "Adam's here." He's been getting worse, though, slowly, and in '09, for a while, Cook had thought-- but he's stable now. "He's okay."  
  
It takes a second, but then Cook swipes his hand quickly over his face, his mouth. "Good," he mutters. And then he presses his fists to his eyes. "Oh, thank god."  
  
Cook looks so _young_ , and terrified, and David's never seen him like this, _never_ , not when Neal had collapsed from over-exhaustion on tour, or when Stan had to go into the hospital for a broken hip, or when Michael had called to tell them about Stacey's car accident, and how they hadn't been able to -- that the baby was gone.   
  
He reaches out to touch Cook's arm. "Cook," he says, gently. "David, don't - it's okay. Come here."  
  
Cook's still shaking when David leans over. He's small enough to huddle under David's arm, and he presses his face into David's neck for a long moment, breaths coming harsh and erratic against David's skin.  
  
"It's okay," David murmurs, again, rubbing Cook's back warmly. "You're okay."  
  
They sit like that for a while, and then Cook clears his throat and pulls back, almost embarrassed. "Fuck," he says, caught between a laugh and a sniffle. "Sorry. That must've been attractive."  
  
"You're always attractive," David says, without thinking. And then his brain catches up to his mouth, and-- "Oh my gosh."

He kind of expects Cook to - to laugh, or say some smart-alecky thing, but he doesn't. He just tilts his head and looks at David a little weirdly. The room is - it's suddenly kind of hard to breathe? "Cook?"  
  
"How did you say you knew me again?" Cook asks. His voice is so, so low.  
  
David blinks and says, "Um."  
  
And then Cook reaches for him, wraps one hand around David's neck and _kisses_ him, oh my--  
  
David makes a quiet, helpless little noise, and kind of melts into it. Cook's mouth is so, so warm, and his skin is a little scratchy - like he didn't have time to shave in the morning - and his _tongue_ , oh--  
  
Cook's eyes are really dark when he pulls away, and he's breathing kind of heavily, and his mouth is all wet and bruised and David's brain is moving all sluggishly and stuff, so it takes a second to register that - that his hands are curled around the lapel of Cook's jacket, tight, and his heart is jackhammering against his chest, and he really, really wants to do that again.  
  
So he does.  
  
Cook doesn't really seem to, um, mind.  
  
When they pull away again, Cook's sort of smiling, a little bit. "I don't even know your name," he says, breathlessly.  
  
But he gasps before David can tell him, pained, and David says, "Oh my gosh, _Cook_ , what--"  
  
But then Cook doubles over, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other clenched tight around David's wrist, and David barely has time to _think_ , and then Cook's gone.  
  
The only things left bunched in David's fists are Cook's clothes.

 

That's how Cook - _his_ Cook, his thirty-year-old Cook - finds him later: sitting on the edge of his bed, still holding onto the leather jacket. 

"Archie?" Cook says.

"Hi, Cook," David says faintly. "I, um. You--"

And then the whole story comes tumbling out.

"Shit," Cook says, when David's done. He sits heavily on the bed, his thigh just barely touching David's. "Oh, fuck. That was today?"

"Yes," David says.

"David," Cook says.

And David can't, not when Cook is looking at him all concerned and guilty and _worried_ \-- He just _cheated_. On - on Cook, and their relationship, and, he's a terrible, terrible person. David shuts his eyes and presses his face into his hands. "I cheated on you," he moans. "Oh my gosh, Cook, I'm... I'm _so_ sorry I kissed him! I mean, you! I just - he looked _just_ like you, and I'm - I wasn't thinking about--"

Which is when Cook starts to laugh.

David sneaks a peek at him through his fingers. "Cook?" he says, cautiously.

But Cook just laughs even harder.

David frowns, then, confused. "Cook?"

"Oh my _god_ ," Cook chokes out. "Archuleta, you corruptor of young minds. It was _you_."

"What?" David says. "Oh my gosh, I am _not_ \-- what did I do?"

Cook finally muffles his laughter long enough to say, "I totally went home and hooked up with my first boyfriend after this," but then he's doubled over again, laughing so hard he's almost wheezing. "Jesus."

David blinks.

"Oh god, I can't - I totally forgot about this," Cook says, eventually, as he wipes his eyes. "Last time I time traveled." He looks up at David, then, grinning, and leans in to nip at his earlobe before adding, "You know, all this time the paparazzi's been calling _me_ the cradle-snatcher."

"Oh my gosh," David says, blushing _furiously_. "Shut up."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: grocery shopping

"Oh my gosh," Archie says, when they finally get to the grocer's. "I can't believe you're still sulking!"  
  
"I am _not_ sulking," David protests, rolling his eyes as he lets Archie tug him into the store, reaching to grab for a basket on their way in. "But you just dragged me out of bed, on a _Sunday_ , when I was all prepared to spend the day naked--"  
  
"Because you haven't been grocery shopping since we won Idol!" Archie protests. His voice is level, like the idea of hearing David say _naked_ in public hasn't just made his ears go pink. David wishes he didn't find that so endearing.  
  
"Because I'd be mobbed?" David offers, finally, as Archie drags him past the beer section. Typical.  
  
"That's why we're in disguises!" Archie points out. (Disguises in this case meaning baseball caps pulled low over their eyes, the hugest pair of shades Archie could find lying around the house, and two woolen scarves David's mom had sent them for Christmas. _Scarves_. In the middle of _Summer_.)  
  
David sighs. "It's also six in the morning, Archie. Normal people don't wake up at six in the morning on a Sunday to buy groceries."  
  
"Exactly!" Archie says, brightly. And then he spies the vegetable section. " _Lettuce_!"  
  
Any hope David might have had of holding on to his grumpiness - Jesus, Archie knows he's not a morning person - promptly disappears. Archie's already disappearing around the corner when David laughs to himself, resigned. "Oh my gosh," he hears Archie say. "Cook! They have, like, three different kinds!"  
  
David sighs and starts after him. "Arch! I'm not eating grass for dinner all week!"  
  
At least this means they'll be able to get fresh whipped cream.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: how and when they come out of the closet to their fans

They hold the wedding in Tahoe.  
  
For no other reason than the fact that Cook really says he really likes the way the name sounds. "Think about it," he says to David. "We'll be able to say we had our honeymoon in Tahoe. Tahoe. _Ta_ hoe."  
  
So, um. David totally had to give in after that.  
  
It's a small affair; both their families, the Castros, the three other horsemen, Brooke and Carly, a couple of other relatives.   
  
The place is _really_ pretty, though, and the beds at the hotel are really nice. And - and big. And, um. Stuff. Which Cook takes total advantage of. And it _is_ kind of nice to get to say, "Oh my gosh, yes. Tahoe was awesome."  
  
  
By the time David gets his second interview with Ellen, it's eight months after the wedding, and David's already settled into the idea of being married to Cook, and of having a _husband_.   
  
Which is why, when Ellen says, "So let's talk about married life, David," David's first response is a smile and, "okay!"  
  
His second response is panic, and, "Um. What?"  
  
Ellen looks torn between shock and amusement as he gestures at the ring on his left hand--oh my _heck_. "Oh!" David says, horrified. "That's - I forgot to take it off this morning!"  
  
(which, oh my gosh, this is _totally_ Cook's fault. He'd assaulted David the _second_ David woke up, and then they'd, um, had sex, and then played footsie with each other at the breakfast table all morning, which Cook knows David finds _really_ distracting--)  
  
And then David realizes how _incriminating_ everything he's just said sounds. "Oh no," he moans.  
  
"Oh, yes," Ellen says. She's grinning now, rubbing her hands together with a glint in her eye that makes David shrink back in his seat a little. Ellen looks out at the audience, who've been stunned into silence. "Who wants the first guess?"  
  
Amidst the utter _pandemonium_ that breaks out, David gasps, "Oh my gosh, it's totally not David Cook!"  
  
The silence settles back in.  
  
  
Later, after twenty minutes of total embarrassment, dang it, David stumbles backstage, totally dazed. Ellen had said, grinning from ear-to-ear as she stood up to hug him goodbye, "Welcome to the club."  
  
He pulls out his cell phone, and presses 3 on speed dial. "Hi Cook!" he says. "You know how we said we were going to wait to do a press release thingy about Tahoe? Um. We maybe don't need to do that anymore." David pauses a second, and then adds, sheepishly, "Haha?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> archie is a mormon elder, and cook is new in town.

  
When Cook moves to the middle of Salt Lake City ("You mean Nowheresville, Utah," Johns had grumbled, as he'd shoved Cook's favorite outfit into one of the many boxes that'd been crowding Cook's one-room apartment), he isn't quite sure what to expect.  
  
The people seem nice enough, friendly (from what he's seen of them), and he's got a pretty sweet set-up in his new neighborhood; an actual house with an actual yard that he can take an actual lawnmower to town in. Business isn't a problem, either. That's the thing about being a graphic designer. 90% of his clients find him online.  
  
He's not sure what he's looking for, either. All he knows is he'd been in LA too long, gotten used to the big city and the bright lights, and he's needed a change for months. ("Bullshit," he hears Carly say - Jesus, even in his head she never shuts up - "When are you gonna stop pretending like this isn't because you and Jensen broke up?")  
  
And yeah, okay, maybe Cook's been moping a little, but the Discovery Channel is _fascinating_ , he can order his groceries online, and he doesn't exactly have friends or family to meet out here. Doesn't exactly know the neighborhood that well, either.  
  
Cook isn't sure if that's the reason he goes to church that Sunday, or if it's something else, like Yeager on his answering machine, saying, "Get the hell out of that house before you go stir crazy, man. You're fucking shit at social hermit."  
  
But he goes - and it doesn't matter that it's a Mormon church (because seriously, he's in _Salt Lake City_ , what the fuck was he expecting?). Cook gave up on figuring out the differences between denominations a long time ago. The basic rites are the same wherever.  
  
Or at least, that's what Cook thinks... until Father David Archuleta gets up to preach the gospel. "Um, hi guys," Father David says. The assembly murmurs a quiet, "Hi, Father," in return.  
  
Cook stares. Jesus. His priest is a _kid_ ; an adolescent, barely-out-of-pubescence _child_.  
  
And then Father David says, "I'm supposed to share about family today. And I thought I'd start us off with a little hymn, if that's okay?" and then he opens his mouth and _sings_ \--  
  
Cook has to tug at the collar of his shirt a little. He slouches in his seat, feeling heat start to creep up his neck; he knows it's not all due to embarrassment. Fuck. _Forgive me Father, for I have sinned._

_  
_It's the loneliness, Cook thinks - a little desperately - as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and leans back against the wall. It's the loneliness fucking finally setting in, and once he _talks_ to someone (of age), he'll be fine. He's totally not waiting for--  
  
"Hi, sorry."  
  
Cook whips around, and Father David kind of stumbles a step back to avoid being hit by Cook's elbow. "Shit," Cook says, and then immediately winces. "I mean, uh - sorry. Sorry, Father. You okay?"  
  
Father David smiles, then. It's only a little uncertain. (It still makes Cook's stomach flip over. Fuck.) "It's fine," he says. "Sorry if I startled you. I just thought - I saw you here, like, an hour ago, so I thought... oh, I'm sorry! Are you waiting for someone?"  
  
"Uh," Cook says. He scratches the back of his head. "Uh. I'm - actually. I'm new in town."  
  
Father David's smile suddenly seems brighter, if that's even possible. "I thought so. I mean, I kind of recognize most of the people here, so..."  
  
Cook's mouth quirks up, a little wryly. "Stuck out like a sore thumb, huh?"  
  
"Oh!" Father David says, hurriedly. "Oh, no. I mean, I just - people don't usually wear jeans to sacrament meetings? Not that - not that it's not okay. I mean, it is, and you're new, so maybe... don't? At the next meeting? Um, if you're coming to the next meeting? I mean, totally no pressure or anything! Oh my gosh, I'm doing this all wrong."   
  
Father David is going redder by the second, and Cook surprises himself by grinning, by the warmth in his stomach that's starting to spread, right down to his fingers. "I'm pretty green to this whole Mormon thing," he admits, before he can even think about what he's saying. "I could use a couple of pointers."  
  
"Yes!" Father David exclaims, too quickly, and then cringes. "Um, yes, okay. I can do that. There's a really nice diner down the road...?"  
  
Cook feels a _little_ guilty for taking advantage of his enthusiasm. "Sounds good."   
  
Not guilty enough to keep from doing it.  
  
"Awesome!" Father David says. He makes a funny, aborted movement with his hands, like he's about to clap, and then quickly tucks them behind his back. Cook swears his eyes are _shining_. "Just give me two minutes to change, and I'll--"  
  
"Yeah," Cook nods. "Take your time."  
  
He is _not_ checking Father David out as the Father turns around and heads back inside the church.

 

He is _totally_ checking Father David out. Fuck.  
  
They've placed their orders at the diner, and Father David's changed out of his temple garment, and is now in regular jeans and a shirt, and, oh God, Cook's special front-row seat in hell now has "reserved for VIP" stamped right the fuck over it.   
  
"So how old are you anyway, Father?"  
  
Father David starts to laugh, and promptly chokes on his water. "David," he wheezes, in between Cook thumping him on the back. "No one - outside the church, I'm just David."  
  
"Really?" Cook says, momentarily surprised. "So am I. David Cook. But I'm thinking first names are pretty much where the similarities end."  
  
Father David - _David_ \- smiles.   
  
Turns out Cook isn't far wrong, though. In the two hours they spend at the diner, Cook learns that David's only twenty and two months (which is legal) (fuck), and he's been training to become a priest pretty much forever (mother _fuck_ ). He's got four siblings, an awesome family, and the best friends in the world. He loves singing, and that's his backup plan in case his part-time venture into priesthood doesn't quite work out. David pauses at that, forehead creased. "Oh," he says, clearly surprised. "I didn't - I don't mean that. I - this -- being a priest is awesome, and I really like it, so. Um. I don't--"  
  
"Hey," Cook says, when David starts to look panicked. "Hey, relax. It's okay. Who am I gonna tell?"  
  
It takes a second, but then David takes a deep breath and nods. He barely manages a smile. "Thanks," he says, earnestly. "I don't - no one else knows that. I'm - I've never told anyone."  
  
It strikes Cook then that despite his skill, and his charisma (which... is really more endearing awkwardness than any real natural instinct) and his experience at priesthood, David's just as insecure as the next guy. Still learning the ropes, trying to figure things out. Still the ridiculously attractive priest Cook stupidly asked out on a whim. Still just a kid.   
  
Fuck.  
  
 _Forgive me, Father,_ Cook thinks. _I'm about to sin._  
  
David's looking down at his burger, picking listlessly at his fries, when Cook says, "What're you doing tomorrow night?"

 

Open Mic night turns out to be a pretty big deal.  
  
As big a deal as anything in SLC can be, at least. There are at least thirty people squeezed into the little cafe five minutes away from his house, and the minute David sees the crowd, he looks up at Cook with eyes that say _um, I am totally not doing this?_  
  
"David," Cook laughs (and if his voice is raspy it's not because David is dressed up in his regular people clothing again, with a fitted shirt that says "families are forever" and fitted jeans, and a brown leather jacket; his coffee's a little on the strong side, is all) "You preach to a congregation. You sing hymns to them. This crowd is barely a tenth of that."  
  
"I know that," David protests, still trying to squirm out of Cook's grasp as Cook steers him towards the stage. "But this isn't the same thing! Cook!"  
  
"Look," Cook says, firmly, leaning against the wall to barricade David's only means of escape. "Priesthood's great, it's awesome, I get that, but you're never going to know if this could be more awesome unless you get your ass up there and _sing_."  
  
David flails helplessly at Cook for a moment, and then he shakes his head and turns to look at the stage. When he speaks up again, he sounds strangely subdued, an odd note in his voice that Cook can't quite place. "I'm not supposed to have to try other things."  
  
Cook puts his hand on David's shoulder. "David," he begins, and then--"Jesus, you're _shaking_."  
  
When David looks back at him, he's chewing on his lower lip, eyes hooded. "Cook, what if - what if I get up there and -- what if I don't want to get down?"  
  
"Come on," Cook says, as he grabs David's hand. He only manages to keep his tone level through sheer determination. "We're going to sing."   
  
"Wait, Cook!" David protests. "What are you - _we_?"  
  
Cook flashes David a small, wicked smile. "How good's your Nickelback?" he asks, just before the guy onstage ends his glory note, and they're herded onstage.  
  
"Um," David says, wide-eyed with terror, and he's still gripping Cook's hand, so, so tight as the opening chords start to play.

Cook just grins, cupping the mic in his free hand. "I am so high, I can hear heaven," he purrs. "I am so high, I can hear heaven."   
  
David just watches him for a second, mutely, and then Cook sees something shift in his face, like something shakes loose, and then he's joining Cook, their voices blending like nothing Cook's ever heard before. His grin slides right off his face. "Oh but heaven, no, heaven don't hear me."   
  
Cook barely registers the crowd anymore, barely even registers the song. David's hand is still shaking in his own, he's still watching Cook through eyes that are wide and trusting, darker than Cook's ever seen them. Cook feels his breath catch, and he nearly misses his cue.  
  
He only _just_ manages to make it through the song at all, and by the end of it he's a wreck, heart pounding rapidly against his chest as he pants for air. Somehow the room is still too hot, and Cook almost stumbles as he tugs David backstage.  
  
"Cook!" David says, high and breathless. "I don't - you were _awesome_ , oh my gosh!"   
  
When Cook turns to look at him, he's practically _vibrating_ , he's so excited. His face is totally flushed, his eyes are bright, and his lips are red and raw from where he's been worrying at them. "Cook, you have to--"   
  
Cook hears himself let out a low, helpless moan, and then he's pushing David into the storage room, barricading the door shut behind them.  
  
"Cook," David repeats. He doesn't even sound surprised. In fact, there's that strange note again, the same one Cook heard right before he dragged David onstage with him, and--  
  
That's when Cook _gets_ it. That's wistfulness in David's voice. _Yearning_. His pulse starts working double-time. Fuck. And then David curls his empty fist into Cook's shirt, leans back against the wall and pulls Cook forward. Cook nearly crushes him, and his hands are so sweaty he can feel David's palm sliding against his own. He doesn't know which one of them looks more surprised.  
  
David's breath is hot against Cook's jaw, and they're so close Cook can feel the flutter of David's eyelashes each time he blinks. When Cook tilts his head, David follows, readily, lips parted like he can steal Cook's breath and make it his own. Cook feels his stomach bottom out. "David," he says.  
  
David shakes his head. "Please," he murmurs, so low Cook almost misses it. "Please."  
  
Cook chokes back another groan, and then his hands are on either side of David's face, and he kisses him, hard but brief, barely a peck. David's already breathing hard, one fist still bunched up in the fabric of Cook's shirt. "Forgive me Father," he whispers, but then he's lifting his head some more and drawing Cook close.  
  
Then they're _kissing_ again, really kissing, David's mouth opening under Cook's like this is all he'll ever need. It's rough and dirty and _fast_ , everything Cook never knew he wanted, and the heat of David's mouth, of David's _skin_ \--   
  
David makes a low, desperate noise when Cook sweeps his thumb over the curve of his neck, makes an even sweeter sound when Cook shucks his shirt up and starts working on his belt. _Forgive me, Father,_ Cook thinks, as he drops to his knees. David's already writhing against the wall, straining for more contact. _I'm gonna keep sinning._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 ficlets in 10 genres

**1\. Angst**  
  
The package arrives on a Tuesday.  
  
The ring is a dead, heavy weight in his hand when he pulls it out of the box, burns his skin like it's going to leave a mark. His heart thumps.  
  
His note is folded neatly beside it, creased like it's been opened and closed a hundred times. His message, smeared: _~~I didn't know if~~ ~~Um~~ You should have your ring back._  
  
There's a new line underneath that: _Keep it._  
  
  
  
 **2\. AU**  
  
"And the winner of this year's title of America's Favorite Dancer is David--"  
  
  
  
 **3\. Crack!**  
  
"So, um, so it's okay if I call you Cook?" David says, cautiously, and gets a nod in response. "And you're not going to try to, like, electrocute me again?" His fingers are still totally numb from the last shock.  
  
"Pika-pi!"  
  
David looks up despairingly at Professor Cowell. "Is that a yes?"  
  
"Chu!" Cook trills, eyes glinting.  
  
"He likes you," Professor Cowell says, dryly. "You're going to be very happy together."  
  
  
  
 **4\. Crossover**  
  
"His name is David Archuleta." The professor's voice is unruffled, but urgent. "Remember, we must speak with him before Mystique uncovers his location."  
  
"Got it," Cook says, tersely.  
  
Logan sniffs the air, then, growls, "We've got company."  
  
There's a sudden explosion beneath them, and Cook looks down to see a boy fly across a street and into a car. A car that's _totaled_ by the impact. The kid's barely fazed by it, stumbling out of the wreckage seconds later with his arms around his stomach. He takes off down a side alley, Toad on his heels.  
  
"Looks like we're too late, bub," Logan snarls.  
  
"Not on this flight." Cook narrows his eyes, prepares to pull in his wings. "Wolverine, you're gonna wanna hang tight."  
  
  
  
 **5\. First Time**  
  
There are only a couple of things David remembers from that night.   
  
1\. He'd been pretty drunk.   
  
2\. Archie had not.  
  
3\. At one point, Archie had been on top.  
  
4\. They'd cuddled, after.  
  
  
  
 **6\. Fluff**  
  
What Cook doesn't know: Archie doesn't actually think his pirate joke is funny. Or, um, or that any of his other jokes are, really.  
  
What Archie doesn't know: Sometimes Cook tells him jokes just to see how long it'll take for Archie to decide to kiss him quiet.  
  
  
  
 **7\. Humor**  
  
"Um," Archie says, faintly, as he picks the stick up again. The (+) sign at the end of it doesn't change. Oh my gosh, oh my _gosh_ , he's-- " _COOK_!"  
  
  
  
 **8\. Hurt/Comfort**  
  
It's stupid, David knows that. It's totally dumb, and kind of lame, and he's _seventeen_ , okay, he's not a kid, it doesn't make any sense to be this upset when it's not--  
  
It's not like he doesn't _want_ to go home, or to be with his family again, or to see his friends. It's just - this, Idol, all of it, them, this feels like home now.  
  
They've only got two more concerts to play.  
  
"Hey," Cook murmurs, groggily, and David glances up at him, over Jason's hair and one of Carly's arms, startled. "Can't sleep?"  
  
David tries on a smile. "Oh, no, I just--"  
  
"You're never going to be any good at this lying business, Arch," Cook groans, and then crawls over Michael and Syesha -- nearly planting a foot in Chikezie's stomach in the process -- so he can settle comfortably beside David. "Stop thinking so hard, and go to sleep."  
  
Lying there, beside the rest of his second family, Cook's fingers warm over his wrist, it isn't hard for David to obey.  
  
  
  
 **9\. Smut**  
  
Mike's been a security guard at the Hilton for the past eleven years. It's fucking amazing, he thinks, the amount of free porn you get, even in a classy place like this.  
  
And that's only the celebrities.   
  
(Just last week, for fuck's sake, the kids from the American Idol tour had been around, and the winner, Cook? He'd been all over the other David, the tiny one, hit the emergency button in one of the elevators once they'd gotten in and backed the smaller David up against the wall, put both his hands on David's hips and pressed even closer, licked into the hollow of his throat as he worked on their jeans, yanked them down. And David had leaned up into him, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, curled his fingers into the lapels of Cook's jacket and tipped his head back. Cook had hoisted David up, then, easy, barely even blinked, and fitted them together, nice and slow, murmuring in David's ear the whole time. David's grip had gone white-knuckled, had parted his lips, looking like a fucking porn star with that mouth, Jesus Christ, and Cook had tilted his head up and kissed him, hard and fast--  
  
If Mike hadn't had to do his rounds, he would've stayed to see the end that night.)  
  
  
  
 **10\. UST**  
  
David manages to forget, until Manila.   
  
Until he's finished his set and glances out from behind the curtains to see Cook up on stage, doing _Come Back to Me_ , voice low and rough, face flushed, guitar held tight against his body.  
  
That's when he remembers those hands on his shoulders, huge and hot, and Cook, laughing, in front of all those people, outside the tour buses, so close they're sharing the same air, eyes bright as he sings, ' _is it really just another crush?_ ' right in David's ear.   
  
David aches and wishes, _wishes_ , he didn't already know the answer.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of the alphabet meme: m is for music (and for marriage <333)

Cook proposes on a Saturday. That's always the first thing David remembers, whenever anyone asks.  
  
They've been twittering (or, um, is it tweeting?) back and forth for, like, an hour or something, just about silly everyday stuff (which David is already used to, because, like, when he first made Cook sign up for a Twitter account, that's all Cook had done for days, just, whatever _spammed_ him with Tweets about stuff, and not even, like, updates stuff, just things like _why is water red?_ and _i'm glad i don't have sweaty palms_ and _lullabies are the best_ , which, okay, totally weird, but David has them all favorited anyway).  
  
Anyway, they're talking about this, um, pelican that David saw in the zoo when he was twelve, when suddenly Cook sends: _i tip my hat to the keeper of the stars_.  
  
David blinks for a second, disoriented. _Um,_ he tweets back. _The Pelicans weren't the stars, Cook._  
  
A minute later he gets, _you are my favorite attraction, you give me real satisfaction._  
  
It doesn't really explain things any better?  
  
The next Tweet he gets says, _i don't wanna lose one moment of you._ Which, okay, um. And then, _shoelaces untied, you can dry your eyes, the perfect shadows lie behind us._  
  
 _Um, are we still talking about pelicans?_ David sends back, _Because that would be kind of weird? Ha ha._  
  
Cook's next reply takes a little longer, and what David gets is, _sigh, david. here: and as i lay me down tonight, i close my eyes, what a beautiful sight_.  
  
Which -- _oh_. Oh, okay, David would recognize Jason Mraz anywhere, duh, so this is some kind of game. They're song lyrics. He's kind of smiling to himself a little, humming under his breath as he pulls up a new tab in Firefox, Cook must have found some really awesome songs or something--  
  
He gets another tweet while he's waiting for google to load: _dancing in the parking lot while the band plays inside, sweep me off my feet._ So he taps that one in first. It's by [Amanda Marshall](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIXBJM6lDQ0), huh, he's never heard of her before--  
  
And then he sees what the song is _called_ , and David doesn't even - his breath _catches in his throat_ , oh my gosh, _oh my gosh_ , his hands are shaking as he types the other lyrics in, and every time the browser refreshes he feels his pulse _jump_ , his heart banging against his chest, and his vision suddenly goes all blurry.  
  
He fumbles for his mouse, then, and he only manages to get back onto the Twitter website by luck. Cook's left, like, fifty tweets in twenty seconds or something, all just variations of his name, and--  
  
David can't even _see_ anymore, oh my gosh, he's - and his keyboard, it's getting all wet and stuff, but whatever, he doesn't even _care_ , Cook -- Cook just asked him to, to.  
  
 _archie? david, hey,_ Cook sends, for maybe the billionth time. And David makes this tiny little sound, this _noise_ he's never heard before, caught between a sob and a laugh, and gropes blindly for his phone and dials Cook's number, his heart still thumping in his throat.  
  
Cook picks up halfway through the first ring. "Arch?" he says, and it's - he sounds... _nervous_ , like, like he thinks maybe David is going to, like David's answer could be _anything_ but, "I can't help that I like to be kissed, and I wouldn't mind if I changed my name to Mrs."  
  
There's a second of silence, then, and David hears Cook breathe in, sharp, like - like maybe he's--  
  
And David's heart feels like it's going to burst, maybe. " _Cook_ ," he says, and then Cook lets out a sob, and David laughs and grips the phone and sings, like the time they sang the phonebook, tuneless and _happy_ , "Cook, yes. _Yes_."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of the alphabet meme: c is for cloning

It's been, like, the longest day _ever_ , okay, fifteen interviews and a mini-showcase thing, which is why he manages to catch you completely off-guard when he slips into the room after you, and nudges it shut with the heel of his foot.  
  
"Um," you say, but then he's putting one hand on your shoulder, and the other in your hair, and pushing you back against the door, and you totally know where he's going with this, and you say, "oh my gosh," - because he did, like, whatever, _twelve_ of those interviews, how is he not tired? - and then he's kissing you.  
  
His fingers are so, so warm on your cheek, and his lips are soft and sticky with chapstick - _your_ chapstick - and you're _giddy_ when he licks into your mouth, heartbeat fluttering in your throat, the same way it's been doing for weeks now, weeks and _weeks_ \--  
  
"So fucking hot, David," he murmurs, breath hot on your skin, and you shiver, because you're - you'd _never_ say something like that, never, but it - it sounds totally reasonable, when he says it. Which is stupid, because he's, like, _you_ , basically, and - and it's your voice when he talks, and your eyes in his face, and - and _your mouth_ you're kissing, dangit.  
  
And, okay, the thing is, this whole thing is totally Cook's fault, because he's the one who, whatever, practically forced you into it--not that you hadn't needed it, really, when the tour had been over for three weeks and you'd still barely slept more than three hours a night, too busy with press and promo to even breathe.  
  
"Man," Cook had said, collapsed on your couch one night after an hour-long interview you'd shared with some major international channel - it's maybe from China? Except don't they have really strict rules on the media or something? - "You know what we need?"  
  
"What?" you'd asked ( _stupidly_ , oh my gosh) drowsily.  
  
"Clones," Cook had said, sweeping a hand vaguely around the room. "Clones who could handle press and promo and events and _appearances_ , fuck."  
  
And you'd winced, a little, and laughed, because clones, right, haha--  
  
Except now you have _him_ \- um, _you_ , whatever, it's all still kind of confusing? - and he's, like, doing things with his mouth that - that...  
  
And that _totally_ hadn't been part of the plan, either, because hi, it's weird to be kissing yourself, weird and, um, kind of, um, but anyway. You'd freaked out for a while at first, but having a clone really _did_ make things more convenient, because, like, you'd started to have more time to rehearse and work on songs and stuff (twitter is awesome!), and the media was all, whatever, suddenly you're not awkward! cute! funny! yay! and that had actually been really cool.  
  
At least until you'd come backstage after one of your performances one night, and he - the Other David - had been there, arms folded and leaning back against your wardrobe, eyes dark and unreadable. "Um?" you'd said.  
  
He'd smirked, and it was so, whatever, _weird_ , to see that look on your face. (Not weird anymore.) "What's in it for me?" he'd said.  
  
"What?" you'd said, confused.  
  
And then his hands had been in your hair, and his mouth had been slanted over yours, and your heart had pounded in your ears, like thunder, pounded like rain on the side of the bus, doing one-fifty on the freeway, and it had been --  
  
"How can a window encompass perfection?" you find yourself humming, breathlessly, suddenly, and he looks up from where he's been sucking a bruise into your shoulder, his eyes - your eyes - burning, dark and heavy-lidded.  
  
"Um," you say, then, mouth going dry, hands floundering. "Sorry."  
  
The edges of his lips quirk, just a fraction. "You are so fucking weird," he says, and you catch yourself shivering again - oh my gosh, _seriously_! - and then he's running a hand up under your shirt, and your skin is burning, and - um. You wonder how much it would cost to buy Cook a thank-you clone for his birthday.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of the alphabet meme: d is for disneyland

Um, so, David isn't even sure whose idea it is (probably his manager's, or Cook's publicist's, or something) but it's _totally_ Cook who talks him into the whole thing, who says, "It's about time we catch up," and, "Come on, Archuleta, when's the last time you let yourself have a little fun?" and, finally, the winning ticket: "We can trade album stories, man."  
  
Which, like, okay, David wouldn't even care about the fact that him and Cook are supposed to be, um, on a _date_ and stuff (because it's good for their images, or whatever) but Cook hadn't even told him that they'd be on a date in _Disneyland_ , oh my gosh--  
  
"You totally should have warned me," he says, miserably, ducking his head as they walk past a bunch of kids hanging outside the entrance to _Starcade_. "No one is ever going to take my music seriously if they see me here."  
  
Cook grins as he slings an amicable arm over David's shoulders, even as he pulls his baseball cap a little lower over his face. "Uh huh," he says, cheerfully. "I wasn't the one who insisted we go for the Finding Nemo Submarine ride twice."  
  
"Oh my gosh!" David protests, gesturing wildly. "You totally made me go on Space Mountain three times! And we had to stand in line all three times!"  
  
"So that was probably overkill," Cook says, agreeably. David glares, or, um, whatever, he's totally staring fiercely, but Cook just tips his head back and cracks up.   
  
Despite himself, David feels his mouth start to tug up. He picks up the map and scans it while he waits patiently for Cook to stop. "What do you want to do next?" he asks, when Cook can breathe without wheezing again.  
  
"I was thinking Pirates of the Caribbean," Cook says, nudging David in the side. "And then maybe dinner? It's getting pretty late, man."  
  
"Oh!" David says, looking up. The sun's already setting; he hadn't even realized. "Yeah, okay. That's -- okay."  
  
He totally doesn't sound disappointed.  
  
"Yeah," Cook says. "And maybe next week we can come back and check out all the rides we missed."  
  
"Yeah," David says, without thinking. And then-- "What?"  
  
Cook's eyeing him speculatively when he looks up, sort of smiling, a little bit, one eyebrow raised, and David feels his skin heat up. "Unless you've already made plans," Cook says, eventually, but he's looking at David like he's already seen his schedule and knows David doesn't have anything on it for, like, two whole weeks.  
  
"Um," David says. "If I say okay, will you stop telling the ticket people I'm twelve?"  
  
Cook doubles over laughing again, and later, he tells David terrible Mickey Mouse jokes all the way to the ride, and his foot keeps sort of accidentally brushing up against David's ankle while they're having dinner, and he drops David back at his apartment after that, and smiles and waves before he drives off, and there's this slow burst of warmth in David's chest, and it's all--it's actually really nice.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of the alphabet meme: g is for growing old

sometimes, when it gets hard, when there's distance and pr and the rest of the summer tour between them, when it feels like a million tweets and a billion emails aren't going to be enough if they're not going to just, whatever, _see_ each other again for weeks and weeks, they talk about how it's going to get easier.  
  
"we'll retire once we're millionaires," cook always says, his voice a low, steady hum in david's ear. "it'll take, like, ten years, man. seven, if we're careful. and then we can take off and do whatever we want."  
  
"travel," david says immediately. "see all those places we didn't get to while we were on tour."  
  
"sure," cook says, easily. "you've spent way more time in asia than i have, so i'm gonna need to even the score."  
  
"oh my gosh, it's totally your own fault for being so popular here!" david protests.  
  
"and there's still europe and scandinavia," cook says, like david hasn't even spoken.   
  
"and africa," david says, as he hums the first line of _the circle of life_ under his breath.  
  
"and africa," cook echoes. "and when we're done seeing the world, we'll settle down somewhere, get a house. white picket fence, dublin, and two point five kids. it'll be awesome."   
  
"but i don't -- how do you have a half a kid?" david points out.   
  
"well--"  
  
"and a white fence would get dirty really quickly."  
  
"stop ruining my fantasy, archuleta," cook threatens, but when david closes his eyes, he can see the way cook's mouth is quirked, the way he's kicked back in his chair, rocking it back so it's standing on its hind legs.   
  
david catches himself smiling at nothing, and there's a crackle of silence over the phone before cook says, "and then, when you're 50, we'll do a worldwide comeback tour."  
  
"and we could totally go on tour at the same time," david adds (because the alternative is being apart 8 whole months and -- it's not that david isn't grateful, because he is, but 8 months is a really, _really_ long time).  
  
"or," cook says, "we could go on tour _together_."  
  
"oh," david says. "um, i like that better."  
  
"yeah," cook laughs. "i thought you would."  
  
and it's not - david's maybe just sentimental, or whatever, but--  
  
nothing seems too hard, after that.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of the alphabet meme: k is for kiss and kids

It's 7am when David stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Archie's already awake, standing in front of the stove, making bacon and eggs and what looks sort of like heart-shaped pancakes. David's mouth twitches, a little, his newly-awake grumpiness fading as he crosses the threshold and slides his arms around Archie's waist.  
  
"Morning," Archie says, cheerfully, and hums and tilts his head when David leans in to press a kiss to his shoulder. "You're up early."  
  
"About that," David says. He grins when Archie shivers - he has them cataloged by now, knows what to do to get the one he wants, and he's titled this one the 'my husband has a sexy morning growl' reaction - and sweeps his lips gently over the base of Archie's neck. "Isn't it my turn to make breakfast?"  
  
Archie leans back into David (it amazes David, sometimes, how it's been twelve years and somehow they still fit together like they did back then) and says, "I didn't want to eat oatmeal this morning."  
  
"Show off," David says, but he has to brush his mouth over Archie's collarbone to hide his grin. He points at the growing stack of pancakes sitting on the plate on the kitchen counter. "I knew you were making hearts again."  
  
"Oh my gosh, shut up!" Archie says, and swats at his hand. David can see the flush already stealing over his skin. "Desi loves them."  
  
"And bacon for Dom," David adds. "You spoil them."  
  
"Um, whatever," Archie protests, as he flips the frying pan before the eggs start to burn. "Like you can say anything, Mr. I'm-going-to-buy-you-a-pony-for-your-sixth-birthday!"

"You loved that pony," David objects.

"I groomed that pony," Archie points out, as he scoops the eggs out of the pan and onto the ready-waiting plate David's holding out for him. "Thank you. You have no idea how hard it was to, like, get him to stand still so I could--oh my gosh, Cook! Stop laughing!"

David's still wheezing when Archie slips out from under him to set the table, and David follows him after a second, still grinning (because seriously, okay, the mental image of Archie flailing, sopping wet, and sitting in a pile of horse manure, _twice_ ) and puts his hands on either side of Archie, trapping him against the table.

"Um, haha," Archie says, leaning back as far as he can. " _No_."

David just grins and moves in.

Archie says, "Oh my gosh, Cook, the _kids_ \--" and then David closes the rest of the distance between them and kisses him, and Archie's protests fade. His mouth is warm and soft and familiar, and he tastes like milk and mint when he parts his lips under David's. He tastes like life. And then his hands are tangled in David's hair, and David's shirt, and after all this time, that quiet, little noise he makes when David licks along the outline of his lower lip still makes David go a little weak in the knees. "Arch," he breathes--

And then they hear a loud " _eww_ , dad!" from the doorway, and they spring apart (or, really it's pretty much Archie who jumps and pushes David away).  
  
"Oh my gosh," Desiree says. It takes a second to get his bearings, but when David glances over, grinning unrepentantly, she has one hand clapped over her eyes. "That was the most traumatizing moment of my life."  
  
Dom is standing beside her, looking just as appalled.  
  
"Really?" David says, easily, as Archie blushes and blushes and _blushes_ \- he's never been good with dealing with the PDA fall out. "I thought that was the time you walked in on us in the garden shed--"  
  
"Daaaaaad!" Desi wails.  
  
" _Cook_!" Archie protests.  
  
Dom shoves his fingers in his ears, looking terrified. "Lalala, can't hear you!"  
  
"What?" David says, innocently. "I was going to say going through your schoolbag."  
  
He can literally see Archie let out a breath. And then Archie smacks his arm. "You are so not funny."  
  
"Seriously, dad," Desi snaps, glowering. "Were you not paying attention? Scarred. For _life_."  
  
Dom sighs as Archie leans over and ruffles his hair, beckoning him to the table. "And everyone else thinks my dad is _so_ funny."  
  
"I have pancakes and bacon," Archie adds, placating, and David catches him surreptitiously backhanding the shine off his mouth as he turns to reach for the maple syrup.  
  
It's like clockwork. Dom brightens visibly and even Desi breaks into a reluctant smile. "We're not having oatmeal today?"  
  
"Hey!" David objects.   
  
"Yeeeeeeeah," Desi drawls. Dom shoots him a pitying look.  
  
"Wait!" David says. "What? I can cook!"  
  
"Dad," Desi sighs, as she settles (primly) into her place at the table. "The only thing about you that might have a remote chance of making it in a kitchen is your last name."  
  
"You have no idea the kind of wounds you're inflicting," David says. "I feed and clothe you for ten years, and this is the thanks I get. Cruel, cruel children."  
  
"Teen," Desi points out, ignoring his melodramatics.  
  
"Your birthay's not till September," David retorts.  
  
Archie hides a cough in his palm that sounds a lot like a laugh, and pats David's shoulder consolingly. "Cook, stop encouraging them." Then he adds, mock-sternly, "Kids, be nice to your dad. Oh, um, and could you pass the milk?"  
  
Desi does as she's told, hiding a smile the whole time, and Dom grins when Archie tosses a grape at him, which he catches easily in his mouth, before digging into his food. David stands there for another second, watching as Archie plies their plates with eggs and bacon and syrup, brows furrowed in total concentration.  
  
Ten years, David thinks. He's had this for _ten years_.  
  
David bites back a grin, unsuccessfully, and then slides into his own seat and soaks in the feeling of being with his family.  
  
God, but he loves his life.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the alphabet meme: r is for robin hood

"okay, hey," cook pants (after they've been running for, like, _ever_ , oh my gosh, he can't even _breathe_ ), "you know i never got your name."  
  
"um," david gasps. "it's david. david archuleta. and i don't think i can run anymore."  
  
"no, we're almost there, seriously," cook wheezes, and tugs at him, his palm still curled warm around david's fingers. "nice to meet you, archuleta. i'm--"  
  
"i know who you are," david interrupts. because even in the temple it's not like they don't _hear_ things. and david cook and his merry men have taken, like, a _trillion_ dollars from lord cowell already or something. "um, you're kind of hard to miss?"  
  
"thanks," cook says, shooting david a grin over his shoulder. david stumbles, then, and has to flail a little to keep from tripping over a rock. there are white spots edging into his line of vision, and oh my gosh, he is _totally_ going to pass out. cook's grip on him tightens for a second, but his pace doesn't waver, and david looks up to him adding, "and thanks for covering for me, by the way."  
  
"oh," david says, and for a second his lungs stop burning, because all the blood is rushing up his neck, his cheeks. "um. you're welcome?"  
  
but what _else_ had he been supposed to do? it's not - he's never been grabbed and pushed into a side alley with a, "listen, man, i'm seriously sorry about this," and he's never, ever been _kissed_ , especially not like that, like he's going to die because his body's on _fire_ , and his chest is tight and his _toes are curling_ , oh my heck, it's not like there was a training manual on how--   
  
"yeah," cook says, then. he sounds kind of strangled. "they're finally going to be able to get their roof fixed over at foster's home with this money."  
  
\--to handle these things in the temple - wait, _what_? "what?" david repeats, aloud. and then, "oh my gosh, that's awesome!"   
  
"yep," cook says, with a crooked smile. and suddenly david can't look at him anymore. "okay, in here--"  
  
and then they're back in enclosed space again, in an alleyway so narrow david can feel cook's chest pressed up against his own, can feel the heat of his breath against his skin. their fingers are still tangled. david glances up at cook, sees him watching him, silent and intense. then he's distracted by cries of, "left! they went left! no, the _other_ left, moron!" and the sound of marching feet.  
  
he leans into cook, then, just a little, and when cook leans back, he lets out a quiet, quiet sigh. they're going to be okay, he thinks, as lord cowell's men rumble past them.   
  
and after this, maybe - maybe cook will even be in need of a chaplain.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> examples of remixes! based on [this piece of amazingness](http://robots.dreamwidth.org/1436.html).

#### 10 minutes to go (the bad example of a remix remix), PG

dear [](http://ciudad.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ciudad.livejournal.com/)**ciudad** , please don't hold this against me. ilu.  
  
Archie's barely out of his uniform when he hears the door to his room click quietly shut. When he turns, Cook's already shrugging out of his fugly yellow dragon ("interesting East-Asian inspired," Archie corrects, every time) shirt and then Cook's hooking his chin over Archie's shoulder, still smelling like a heady mix of cumin and cream.  
  
"You were amazing," Cook murmurs into his ear, warm and low, and it's like listening to a pot bubbling over, full of promise and apology. "If I had it my way--"  
  
"You'd be fired for, um, tampering with votes?" Archie hazards, but he's smiling, and when Cook laughs, he sinks into the feeling a little more.  
  
"I don't see how they could hold it against me," Cook points out. "You know how I feel about sugar and spice."  
  
Archie wrinkles his nose a little, but he can't keep the face up when Cook tucks his face into the crook of Archie's neck and blows a quiet raspberry. He should be more upset than this, maybe, but it's tough to remember that when he has Cook wrapped around him like this, all warm, easy affection he never shows onscreen (and it's not - um, it's a little selfish, probably, but Archie's glad for that, this small, secret piece of Cook he gets to keep from himself, outside of the kitchen).  
  
"Cook," Archie says, but it doesn't come out as stern as he was trying for. "Michael totally deserved it. I'd never think of anything like basil and cheese ice cream. And it tasted really good!"  
  
"You know, I'm pretty sure I disagree," Cook says, amicably. "And my boyfriend would tell you the same thing. There was nothing better than that curry ice cream on the judging table tonight."  
  
"Um," Archie says. "He totally wouldn't tell you that."  
  
"He wouldn't, huh?" Cook pulls back a little, and when he meets Archie's gaze in the mirror, his eyebrow's raised, eyes gleaming in a way all too familiar, like the time he'd tried making Archie spaghetti, and they'd wound up with half the fire department in their tiny apartment, and a ruined set of saucepans.  
  
So it's totally not Archie's fault that he's a little, whatever, wary of that look. "No?"  
  
"Well that's a shame," Cook says, mouth curving into a wicked grin that makes Archie's stomach flip. "Because I enjoyed it enough to bring the entire barrel of it he made home. And since we're out of plates--"  
  
"We're not out of--"  
  
" _Since we're out of plates_ ," Cook interrupts, louder. "I'd just have to find alternative ways to serve it. And alternate ways to clean it up."  
  
"Oh," Archie says, and he isn't - he's not breathless at all, he just - it's -- um.  
  
"Mmm," Cook says, but he doesn't sound all that steady himself, and Archie doesn't even try to protest when Cook begins tugging him towards the door. "So I really think my boyfriend should change his opinion on the whole thing."  
  
"Oh," Archie says again, even fainter now, and he's pretty sure Cook can feel the way his pulse is picking up, just a little, the way Cook's palm is closed around his wrist. "I, um - curry ice cream is totally the best. Ever. Totally."

 

 

 

#### 10 minutes to go (the marginally better example of a remix remix), G

um. and please try not to hold this one against me either? because--imitation and flattery and all that. yes. ♥  
  
  
 **xchefkirsty911** : wow SO GLAD they're finally tasting the food  
 **xchefkirsty911** : that was excruciating  
 **xchefkirsty911** : this ep sucked like a hoover  
 **xchefkirsty911** : it's almost as bad as the chairman's shirt. that is seriously fug.  
 **stungal325** : W/E they pay him to judge dessert, not fashion  
 **y2ki3** : i think the curry ice creams interestin tho  
 **stungal325** : IKR. And I love Chef Archuleta! He's so adorb  
 **xchefkirsty911** : also it's hard not to root for someone who makes DOLLHOUSES OUT OF CHOCOLATE  
 **stungal325** : Srsly. And then there's that FACE.  
 **xchefkirsty911** : whoops, tiiiiiiiiny spill on his plate there.  
 **y2ki3** : awww  
 **xchefkirsty911** : .....OKAY NEVER MIND THAT TAKES CARE OF THAT  
 **stungal325** : Lol he did NOT just lick his finger!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : um pretty sure that's EXACTLY what he just did  
 **xchefkirsty911** : ice cream as a light summer dessert my ass  
 **stungal325** : This is a PG SHOW, CHEF.  
 **y2ki3** : haha lol  
 **xchefkirsty911** : NO SERIOUSLY. CHEF ARCHULETA = SECRET. TEASE.  
 **stungal325** : LOL K I THINK YOU'RE ON TO SOMETHING. I swear he just batted his eyelashes!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : AT THE CHAIRMAN. THIS IS THEIR SECRET CODE.  
 **y2ki3** : maybe hes just trying to curry favor with the chairman  
 **stungal325** : Oh my GOD he just made the Chairman laugh!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : ALERT! ALERT! STOIC CHAIRMAN IS STOIC NO LONGER. HAS HELL FROZEN OVER?  
 **stungal325** : WHAT IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW?!  
 **y2ki3** : fill me in!!!!! you know the stupid stream doesnt work otuside the states!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : ARCHULETA IS FLIRTING. WITH COOK.  
 **y2ki3** : hahaha  
 **stungal325** : NO EVE SHE'S SERIOUSLY NOT KIDDING  
 **y2ki3** : what  
 **xchefkirsty911** : SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK. SWEAR TO GOD. HE'SAILDHUFASOIGJK  
 **stungal325** : OMG  
 **xchefkirsty911** : OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG  
 **y2ki3** : hes what  
 **stungal325** : !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG  
 **stungal325** : Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  
 **y2ki3** : what???  
 **y2ki3** : omg whats happening!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS ARE YOU SEEING THIS  
 **stungal325** : IS THIS EVEN REAL LIFE RIGHT NOW  
 **stungal325** : OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG  
 **xchefkirsty911** : WTF  
 **y2ki3** : someone tell me whats going on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111  
 **xchefkirsty911** : THE CHAIRMAN  
 **stungal325** : asoildkfjgospilakjdhwdfhjfdrkkdkjfkfkj  
 **xchefkirsty911** : JUST SPILT CURRY ICE CREAM  
 **xchefkirsty911** : ALL OVER THE SECRET TEASE CHEF  
 **stungal325** : APSODFJSGFODJGFHG  
 **xchefkirsty911** : AKA DAVID "I AM A MORMON" ARCHULETA  
 **y2ki3** : ??????  
 **xchefkirsty911** : THEN HE LEANED OVER  
 **xchefkirsty911** : AND  
 **xchefkirsty911** : LICKED IT ALL OFFG  
 **stungal325** : ASLKDJAOISFJASODFKL BRB DYING  
 **xchefkirsty911** : SERIOUSLY WHAT IS HAPPENING  
 **y2ki3** : !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **y2ki3** : what!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **y2ki3** : no way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : WAY  
 **stungal325** : WAY WAY WAYYYYYYYY

_Iyunsa6 has just entered the chat._

**Iyunsa6** : someone fill me in! what've I missed?  
 **xchefkirsty911** : IYUNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
 **stungal325** : OMG GIRL YOU JUST MISSED THE MOST EPIC THING EVER  
 **Iyunsa6** : what!?!?!?!?! omg did archie win!??!?!  
 **stungal325** : EVEN BETTER  
 **xchefkirsty911** : OH MY GOD WHO EVEN CARES  
 **Iyunsa6** : what  
 **y2ki3** : im still freakig out!  
 **xchefkirsty911** : YOUR OTP  
 **xchefkirsty911** : JUST KISSED  
 **Iyunsa6** : what  
 **xchefkirsty911** : ON NATIONAL TV  
 **Iyunsa6** : what what what what what what what what what  
 **stungal325** : OMG LOL I WISH I COULD SEE YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW  
 **Iyunsa6** : whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttt omg omg omg omg omg brb refreshing tubmrl someone must have gifs bynow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	27. justice (the what your mama never told you remix), PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on [this wonderfulness](http://blue-scribbles.livejournal.com/26256.html).

If anyone asks, the whole thing is totally Carly's fault. _Cook is gonna LOVE this,_ her email had said, right underneath the link it had come with. _Pass it along?_  
  
Archie hadn't even thought twice before he'd hit the _forward_ button, hadn't even paused before slotting Cook's email address into the _to:_ field, and it's only now, twenty minutes too late, when **Slashybabyt3** says, "And then Cook backs Archie into a table, sending pieces of half-finished scribbles flying all over the room as they kiss feverishly--" that Archie realizes what Carly's link leads _to_ , exactly, and--  
  
Oh my gosh. Oh my _gosh_. He sent the link to _Cook_ , and it's about, it's not like he hadn't embarrassed himself _enough_ the last time they'd met at the karaoke club, and Cook had been so _awesome_ about having his drink spilt on him, and he'd just, when Archie had fumblingly given him his phone number and a promise to pay him back for a new shirt, he'd just smiled, low and intimate, and Archie had jumped a little when their fingers brushed and Cook said, "I'll call, man, but it's not going to be about the shirt." He'd _meant_ it, too. He'd called the next day, and they've been talking on-and-off ever since, about their videos, and music, and how strange their Youtube fans can be, and - and Cook's really cool, is all.  
  
And now Archie's sent him that _link_.  
  
"Oh my god, would you relax?" Carly says, when he calls her. "It's not like you're the first youtube celebrities who've been slashed. Alex and Charlie have a much bigger fanbase."  
  
"Um," Archie says faintly. He's met Nerimon once, at some weird Youtube Youth Celebrity meet up thing a couple of people organized a while back. "What?"  
  
"Yeah, there's this _great_ WIP I've been following by Sweetums38, I can get you the link if--"  
  
"Um," Archie says again, and his voice comes out high and panicked as he flails at his phone. "Um, that's okay thanks Carly bye."  
  
He barely has time to get over the relief of escaping yet another link from Carly before his phone buzzes again.  
  
It's Cook.  
  
 _is this your way of asking me out, archuleta? because i'd be amenable to the idea._  
  
And, just - Archie knows how unreliable Google can be about these things, so once he can feel his legs again he gets himself an actual dictionary to check up on the meaning of _amenable_ , just in case.  
  
 _Um,_ he sends back, carefully, after double and triple checking. _Maybe. Yes. Sort of._  
  
Because Archie isn't smooth, but he's also not, like, totally hopeless at this. Whatever this is.  
  
(And Cook starts his next video - which goes up twelve minutes later - with, "Oh my _God_ , I think David Archuleta just asked me out! Swoon."  
  
But they _do_ actually go out, and - um, and maybe make out a little bit on David's doorstep when Cook drops him back home, so David only feels a _little_ guilty when he disables all comments on his Youtube account for the forseeable future, and leaves Cook to get the, like, _gazillion_ "O.M.G!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!" comments from their friends, and the other "aww u guys r so qt" comments from their fans.  
  
Because--whatever, okay, Cook totally had it coming.)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which cobb and arthur help david with his confusing dreams

Anyone in the business can tell you that getting the drop on Dom Cobb isn't easy, that getting the drop on Arthur is even tougher. To get the drop on them as a _team_ , well--  
  
"We may have overestimated this one," Arthur murmurs, out of the corner of his mouth, as they look around the room.  
  
"There's no such thing," Cobb murmurs back. He smiles when Archuleta glances back over his shoulder at them.  
  
"Um," Archuleta says, uncertainly. "What now?"  
  
"Well," Cobb says, stepping forward and leaning over so he's at eye-level with Archuleta. "The secret to understanding your dreams is right behind that door."  
  
Archuleta looks at the door dubiously. "Um," he says carefully. "Okay."  
  
Arthur doesn't blame him. It's unlike any door he's ever seen before, and he's seen _a lot_ of doors in the business. It's pink, covered in diamonds and glitter and what Arthur can only assume are butterflies, their pale purple wings beating faintly in the still room.   
  
"So I just have to--" Archuleta says, gesticulating with his hands.  
  
Cobb nods. "Just open it."  
  
"Okay," Archuleta says, and sucks in a deep breath. He takes a step forward, then another, until he's close enough to put his hand on the doorknob. Then he pauses, and turns back around. "Mr. Charles?"  
  
Arthur has to stifle a snort as Cobb puts on his approximation of an encouraging smile.   
  
"You're," Archuleta says. "You, um - I know it's none of my business, but you're -- I mean, the two of you, you're--"  
  
He flails a little, helplessly, and suddenly it hits Arthur exactly what he's asking. Cobb must figure it out as well, because he flounders a little, and then says, "Ah."  
  
Clearly, this is important, and it's becoming apparent that Cobb isn't going to be any more help. "Of course," Arthur chimes in, then, slipping his arm into Cobb's. To his credit, Cobb doesn't flinch, doesn't even make to pull away, and Arthur feels himself relax marginally.  
  
Some of the tension in Archuleta's shoulders melts away. "Okay," he says, and waves a hand. "I think I may be, like, the dreams I'm having, they're all just - you know, because I'm sort of in love with Cook. And it's really awful, because I can't tell anyone, obviously, and I -- but you're the head of security, so I guess you already knew that. So I guess I just needed to, I don't know, tell someone or whatever."  
  
Arthur exchanges a look with Cobb. This is almost too easy.  
  
"All right then," Cobb says. It's almost gentle. "Maybe it's time for you to wake up."  
  
"Oh," Archuleta says. "Um, without opening the door?"  
  
"Goodnight, David," Arthur says, and shoots him cleanly between the eyes. Cobb's already at the door, working the locks open.  
  
"There's been a change of plans," he tells their employer, once the door swings open.   
  
Cook looks from Cobb to Arthur, and back again. "A change of plans," he says, slowly.   
  
"The two of you clearly need to talk," Arthur says. "Awake."  
  
"Somewhere private," Cobb adds.  
  
"Uh--" Cook says.  
  
"We'll be sending you the bill in a couple of days," Cobb finishes.   
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Cook," Arthur says, pleasantly, as he pulls out his revolver. "Pleasure doing business with you."


End file.
